Grace
by don't think about it
Summary: Very AU. Just my interpretation of how things would have gone if Jimmy hadn't done the honorable thing and married Julie when she got pregnant.
1. Chapter 1

**_Um, so, yeah. I'm not sure how I feel about this; I might delete it, but I thought...well, read it and see._**

Sandy Cohen awoke, much too early, to the sound of his alarm clock's persistent whirring. Still half-asleep, he reached over and shut it off. Glancing at his wife to make sure she had slept through it—she had—he got out of bed and stumbled out into the hallway, heading for the bathroom. He took a long shower, enjoying the hot water. When he finished, he put his bathrobe on and walked back into his bedroom. As he got dressed, Sandy leaned over to look at the clock. Time to wake his wife. He sat on the bed while straightening his tie.

"Judy," he said softly, reaching out and rubbing her shoulder. "Time to wake up." She opened her dark eyes and looked at him sleepily.

"Okay, okay, I'm up." He smiled affectionately at her. "Why are you dressed, Sandy? You're not normally up this early."

"I know. I have a kid in Chino today. Normally, I would've complained, but allegedly she specifically requested me…" He grinned. "And, well, I have never been one to turn down a young lady's request."

"What does she look like?" asked Judith Cohen playfully, in mock worry.

"I have no idea. Her name's…I think it's Grace something. She doesn't have a record. That's all I know." Sandy leaned over and kissed his wife. "I'll see you later tonight, okay? I love you." She smiled.

"You, too."

He drove slightly absently on his way to jail. Why would a teenage girl ask for him in particular? Hell, how would a teenage girl without a record even know who he was?

"Sandy," said his friend and colleague John gratefully when he arrived. "Thank God you're here. I'm telling you, this girl is a piece of work."

"Rude, huh?" John shook his head.

"No, she actually has impeccable manners. She's just…I don't know, annoying, and she refuses to talk to anyone except you. Name's Grace Cooper, sixteen, arrested for shoplifting." He handed Sandy a file.

"Thanks, John." Wondering a bit about this girl, he walked into the room.

Grace Cooper was surprisingly attractive. It shouldn't have been surprising—pretty kids got into trouble just as easily as ugly ones—but it was. She was tall and thin, with long, curly blonde-brown hair and huge blue eyes that were the focal point of a heart-shaped face. Despite her obvious nervousness at having been arrested, she had a remarkable aura of calm about her.

"Hi," she said quickly. "I'm Grace Cooper. Nice to meet you."

"Sandy Cohen," he said.

"I know. I know it must be weird—my requesting you, and all, but my boyfriend—Ryan Atwood—he said you were a really good guy. So…you know…hi."

"Ryan," he nodded. "How is he?" Grace's smile faltered.

"He's okay, I guess. His mom…left, but he's staying with friends. He's better off with them; they're good people."

"Why are you not happy about it?" asked Sandy gently. He had liked Ryan Atwood, and if there was anything wrong with the kid's living situation, he wanted to know about it. Grace looked startled, but then she started to smile. She had a pretty smile.

"Oh, no, Mr. Cohen, nothing like that. It's just that the friend he's living with, Arturo, has a sister Ryan used to date. He's fine; I just get a little bit jealous, that's all."

"Well, I'm glad he's all right." Sandy frowned as he looked at her file. "Grace Cooper…if you don't mind my asking…your parents here are listed as Julie and Lance Baldwin. Is there a reason you don't share their name?" Grace leaned over and looked at the form, then frowned.

"Mom didn't fill it out properly," she said. "I mean, Lance is my dad, he's been my father my whole life, he was married to Mom when I was born, but…he's not my natural father. Cooper is my father's name. He and Mom were never married, but he's actually still my legal father." She shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. Mom and Lance aren't in any danger of, like, suing each other for custody. It works." Sandy didn't say anything, and the silence was rather uncomfortable for Grace, who rushed to continue. "According to Mom, she and Lance broke up like seventeen years ago, and she met this guy named James Cooper and they had an affair, but he didn't really want to marry her, and then she went back to Lance…but I'm the guy's daughter. It's actually kind of important to my mom; that's why she wouldn't let Lance adopt me, or let me call him Dad." Sandy studied the girl a little longer.

"Okay," he finally said. "Well, since this is your first offense, I can probably get you off with just probation, but I can't express upon you the seriousness of stealing. You can get in real trouble, you know, because it's wrong, and while the laws tend to be lenient on minors, you're sixteen, and you now have a record." Her face expressed a look of horror.

"You can't get it expunged, or…something?" Sandy was quite surprised at Grace's easy use of a word he hadn't expected many sixteen-year-olds to know—his own teenagers didn't—but then he remembered Ryan Atwood, whose record he had expunged, and whose obvious intelligence had startled him. Surely his girlfriend was equally smart.

"I probably can," he admitted. "I just kind of wanted to scare you, because breaking the law—it's no joke, Miss Cooper; it's wrong and there's punishment."

"I know," she said quickly. "It was wrong, and it was stupid." She shook her head. "Really stupid. And, hey—you can call me Grace, Mr. Cohen."

"Grace," Sandy said, shaking her hand. "It was nice to meet you. I hope I never see you again," he added with a grin.

"Me, too. At least…under these circumstances." Grace turned to go.

"Wait, Grace…" She turned and raised her eyebrows in question.

"Your address…you live pretty far away. Do you need a ride?" What the hell.

"Actually, um, that would be really good," she confessed. "Both my parents work, and…thanks, Mr. Cohen."

"No problem."

They drove in slightly awkward silence which was not broken when Grace, at Sandy's request, turned on the radio. Finally, though, they reached Grace's house, a small, reasonably well-kept one.

"Thanks," she said again as she got out of the car. He stayed in the driveway to make sure she got in all right, a habit he'd started when he first took girls on dates and had since learned was a wise one. A few seconds after she'd walked in, though, Grace came back out with a terrified look on her face.

"They're not here," she whispered. "Mom, and Lance, and my little brother and sister…Mr. Cohen, they're not here…" Sandy's heart broke at the sight of the girl, who'd been fairly composed up till now, suddenly frantic. He got out of the car; she was sitting on the steps now, looking shell-shocked.

"What am I supposed to do? Does she just—not want me anymore, or—" Grace passed Sandy the note her mom had left her.

_Dear Grace_, he read quietly as he sat beside her. _I don't think this is going to work out any longer. I'm sorry to leave you like this, but I'm pregnant again, and four kids are too many for Lance and me to handle. Besides, I'm beginning to worry that you should know your father. He's a pretty good guy; I think you'll like him. Here's his address, okay? I love you. Mom._

What kind of a note was this to leave a sixteen year old girl? Sandy swore under his breath.

"Legally," he said quietly. "Legally, since he is your father, if we can't find your mother, you have to go to him. I'm sorry, Grace; it's not what anyone should have to do, but…"

"I don't want to find her," she said suddenly, her voice icy. "She just left a note in the house for me to find, along with all my stuff in my room? Helen's stuff is all gone, but mine's still there," Grace continued, starting to cry. "Everything is gone but me and mine…Mom and Lance don't want me; I don't want them."

"Well…then…" said Sandy helplessly. "I hope your father's family are ready for this. And that this is the correct address," he added in a mumble under his breath. He didn't want to worry the girl.

The second drive was even more awkward than the first, and much longer. The address Julie Baldwin had scribbled on her note was in Newport Beach, an extravagantly wealthy town a good forty-five minutes away, and every minute felt like an hour. Finally, they were there. A sinking feeling Sandy'd had the whole drive was confirmed when he saw that it was indeed a gated community. Luckily the guard was not what he should be, and let them through. They pulled up in front of one of the largest mansions either had ever seen.

"Wow," said Grace in a whisper. "_This _is where my father lives?" Sandy raised an eyebrow.

"I guess so," he said, and rang the doorbell. A pretty red-headed girl answered the door.

"Is this the James Cooper residence?" asked Sandy politely. She nodded. "Is Mr. Cooper home, then?"

"Mr. Cooper's at the office, but Mrs. Cooper's working from home; shall I get her?"

"Yes, please." A moment later, a very attractive blonde with neatly styled hair, blue eyes, and a slender figure came to the door.

"Kirsten Cooper," she said, frowning. "Do we…know you?"

"No," said Sandy honestly. "But…um, it's kind of complicated." He faltered a little, trying to decide where to begin. Mrs. Cooper looked uncomfortable about it, but good manners prevailed, and she invited them in.

"This is a nice house," he remarked, admiring the faultless sitting room into which the beautiful woman led them.

"Thank you," she said with a slight smile. "I designed it myself."

"You're an architect?" asked Grace suddenly. Mrs. Cooper turned, seeming to take notice of Grace for the first time.

"No, but I work in residential development at a real estate company, and I worked very closely with the architect for this particular house, since I was going to live in it." She smiled again, and gestured to a couch before sitting on an armchair herself. "Now, before you tell me what it is you're going to tell me, what are your names?" As the redheaded maid passed, Mrs. Cooper casually asked her to bring some ice water.

"I'm Sandy Cohen," said Sandy quickly, "and she…is the reason I'm here." He sighed and bit the bullet. "Her name is Grace Cooper.

"Oh," said Mrs. Cooper. She was clearly quite surprised. "Um…?" Sandy rushed to explain.

"Seventeen years ago, your husband was involved with a young woman from, uh…"

"Riverside," supplied Grace quietly.

"Right, Riverside…" Mrs. Cooper nodded.

"Julie something-or-other, her name was. They only went out for, gosh, it was…two, maybe three months? But then she got pregnant and…" Suddenly it hit her. "You're Jimmy's daughter, aren't you?" Grace nodded.

"Oh, wow," she said, clearly flustered. "Um, hi! I guess I'm your stepmother then, uh, my name is Kirsten Cooper, but…um…I told you that, didn't I? Call me Kirsten. Look, Grace, I'm so sorry we've never had any contact with you, but your mother…She just disappeared. One day she told Jimmy she was pregnant, and he told her he would be there for her, but it was too soon to get married, and then…" The maid showed up with the water, and Kirsten took a glass and downed it in one gulp. "She broke contact. She didn't tell Jimmy when she had the baby—you—and she never asked for child support or…anything, really. She just disappeared. I'm so sorry I didn't…know you." Kirsten looked at Grace's eyes, praying for her not to be upset.

"It's okay," she said quietly. "Mom can be like that sometimes."

"So…um, not that I'm not glad to meet you, and I'm sure Jimmy will be, too, but why are you here?" Grace wished that she could sink into her chair.

"Mom kind of…told me to leave. I was…out, and when I got back, the house was empty except for my stuff, and Mom left me a note telling me basically that she didn't want me anymore and I should try my luck with my father." Kirsten's face contorted with shock, and she instantly drew Grace into an awkward hug.

"I'm so sorry, honey," she said softly. "That's awful; I…How could anyone do that to her daughter?" Grace smiled bitterly.

"My mother is an amazingly selfish woman. Your husband made a good decision when he didn't marry her."

"He's not just my husband; he's your father," said Kirsten firmly. Grace responded with a rueful grin.

"You're very trusting, aren't you, Mrs. Cooper—Kirsten. Most women wouldn't take me on my word."

"You look like him," said Kirsten quietly. "And you look like her, too. And…" She laughed. "I guess I am trusting. Besides, I mean…I guess you need somewhere to stay," she finished awkwardly. "Cara, can you put fresh sheets in the guest room?"

"Which room, Mrs. Cooper?" asked the maid politely.

"Uh, the one with the big gable," she said distractedly. "That's right by Jimmy and my room, Grace, is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure, anything's fine, really. Thanks so much…Kirsten." Kirsten smiled.

"Of course, honey. Do you need help with any of your things?"

"No," said Sandy, breaking into the conversation. "I have it under control, Mrs. Cooper." Kirsten turned, as if she'd finally realized that he was there.

"Who are you, Mr. Cohen?" she asked curiously, giving him a funny look as she did so. Had she met him before?

"I'm Grace's attorney," he said. "She…got into some legal trouble; that's probably why her mother…" Kirsten frowned, not wanting to show her feelings, but a bit surprised at her own audacity at letting a "legally troubled" girl into her house just because she resembled both Jimmy and one of his old girlfriends.

"I'll go get her stuff now, okay?" he said with a glance at the two women. They nodded. He left and quickly came back with the two bags that Grace had packed.

"Cara?" she said with a gesture to the bags. The maid took both and headed for the stairs. Sandy stood again, and Kirsten immediately got up to walk him to the door. He stopped and regarded her carefully.

"Mrs. Cooper…this is gonna sound crazy…but your maiden name, it wasn't Nichol, was it?"

"Actually, yes, it is," she said, surprised. "Do I…know you?"

"You used to. At Berkeley," Sandy clarified. "I guess you don't remember, but we went to a movie once. _Risky Business_," he added with a chuckle. "I had a big crush on you back then, so it's been permanently imbedded in my mind." Kirsten smiled, flattered but a bit embarrassed.

"Oh, yeah, I do remember," she said after she thought about it. "You left the theatre singing that Bob Seger song, didn't you…you were good." She laughed. "That was…what, twenty years ago? When Jimmy and I broke up for the first time."

"There was a second time?"

"Obviously. When Jimmy impregnated Julie," she said with just a hit of wryness. "It's nice to see you again, Sandy. Sorry I didn't immediately remember." He smiled.

"Well, I've gotten older…"

"No, you still look the same," she said with a laugh. "You talk less, though."

"Naw, I don't. If you saw me on a more regular basis…" She laughed again, and he did, too.

"So what's happened to you? Are you married?"

"Yeah," he said, still staring a bit at Kirsten. "Her name's Judith. We have two boys, Jake is seventeen and Sam is fourteen. You?"

"Three," she said with a smile. "Jim is fifteen, and the twins—Victoria and Caleb—are thirteen." Sandy snapped his fingers in mock disappointment.

"You've got us beaten, then." She smiled.

"It really was nice to see you."

"Yeah. You, too. Wait—Kirsten—let me give you my number. For Grace," he explained, as he saw she was about to demur.

**_Obviously, if Sandy and Kirsten never got married, Seth wouldn't exist. And I figured that Marissa would have a different name, too. So review and tell me what you think, even if you hate it._**


	2. Chapter 2

**_So the good reviews spurred me on, lol, and I was inspired for a couple of hours, and wrote on and off while trying to figure out where this is going to go...tell me what you think. Oh, and to those of you who mentioned that you want Kirsten and Sandy to get together? I'm not ruling it out, but I honestly don't know where this is going right now._**

Kirsten walked back into the sitting room, still not sure what to say to the tall, willowy teenager she'd just learned was her stepdaughter. Grace looked up at her unsurely.

"So, um...let me show you your room?" The girl nodded with a look of relief at something to do. Kirsten led her to the elegant staircase just off the dining room, barely glancing at the photographs that captivated Grace's interest.

There was Kirsten, clearly pregnant, with her arms wrapped around a little boy of about one year. There were three small children dressed in neat private school uniforms, standing in front of what Grace could already recognize as the Cooper mansion. There was what was obviously a family portrait taken not long ago, Kirsten seated on a loveseat with the same three children as teenagers standing around her. The older boy was tall and slender but well-built, with golden hair and a warm, straight-toothed smile. The younger one was shorter and admittedly rather skinny. His hair was darker and he wore braces, but Grace could see clearly that he would be very handsome once he got past the awkward stage of adolescence. The daughter was breath-taking, a perfect miniature of her mother, only with slightly tawnier hair and eyes that, even in a photograph, Grace could tell were green and not blue. But Grace's eyes were drawn to the man seated next to Kirsten on the loveseat, his arm around his wife. This man was James Cooper, her father. It was a heady feeling, intensified by the last photograph: her father and Kirsten on their wedding day. The date noted that they were married on "December 19, 1986," and Grace's heart skipped a beat. Her own birth had been only two days prior to her father's wedding. Kirsten had been a lovely bride, she noted, with her long blonde hair falling in gentle waves about her face, and her father was most definitely a very handsome man. His hair was fair, and his brown eyes seemed kind and—it almost embarrassed Grace to notice—very much in love with the woman standing next to him.

"All right, Grace, this is it. I'm sorry it's not very personal, but..." She broke off and tried to smile. "We can change it, I mean, if..." But Kirsten couldn't quite finish the sentence and so she just tried to smile again.

"It's fine," said Grace, also trying to smile. "Beautiful, really." It certainly was. The walls were painted pale purple and a border had been stenciled with yellow roses. The double bed, which was in the center of the room perpendicular to the door, was done in ruffled white bedding with several pastel throw pillows at the head. There was a nightstand with a lamp and telephone on it, and a closet on the wall opposite a beautiful gable window, which was to the right of the bed.

"Look, Kirsten, you don't have to do this," she said abruptly. "I mean, you guys—you have your own life, you have your own kids. I'm really sorry Mr. Cohen and I sprung this on you. You don't have to, you know, take me in." Kirsten's face softened.

"If you're Jimmy's daughter, you're my daughter," she said firmly. "And even if you weren't, you need some place to stay, at least until we can figure out what to do. I'm sure Jimmy will be happy to see you. Do, um...do you need any help with your stuff?"

"No, thanks," said Grace politely, knowing that all she would do would be place her suitcases neatly in the closet. There was no way that this woman was being completely upfront with her; it was unnatural and frankly naïve of her to expect that everything would run smoothly. Grace knew that Kirsten Cooper was putting up a front of "mothering," at least until she and James Cooper—she and _Grace's father_—had talked. It didn't make her think less of the woman; on the contrary, it was the smart thing to do, and the kindest, really. She hadn't turned Grace away at the door, after all.

"All right," Kirsten said uncertainly with a smile. "Well...I'll let you get settled, then, and, um...I was actually working when you got here, so I'll get back to that. If you want something to eat or drink or...anything, Cara's around, and if she can't help you, I'll be in the downstairs office off the sitting room. If you want to watch TV, there's a rec room on the other side of the kitchen; the kids have all kinds of videotapes and DVDs and video games, if you're into those. They're all three out right now, but...um...yeah," she finished rather lamely. "I'm going to go now, okay?" Grace smiled and nodded. "I'll see you later, then."

After Kirsten had gone, Grace sat on the soft yellow rug by the foot of the bed and surveyed her surroundings. It was clearly a guest room, devoid, as Kirsten had noted, of any real personality, but it was very pretty and had clearly been made up by someone with a real sense of taste. Kirsten certainly didn't seem to lack taste, she noted, recalling her stepmother's casually elegant khaki pants and periwinkle blue blouse. There was no way Grace was going to watch television or ask for food, though, no matter how hospitable Kirsten was. She opened her bag and found a Stephen King novel that had been keeping her busy for the last few days. Tentatively, she walked over to the white bed and lay down, finding it soft but sturdy and very comfortable. The Coopers lived in a dream world, she decided, and then she remembered that she _was_, actually, also a Cooper. Grace turned and looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror hung on the closet door, wondering if Kirsten was telling the truth and she looked like her father. She had only seen the two pictures in passing and hadn't found time to really study them. Suddenly, she was startled from her pensive thoughts by the ringing of the telephone at her bedside. Hesitantly, she picked it up.

"Grace? It's Kirsten. Yeah, um, we have an intercom...it's a big house...Anyway, I'm going to the office for a bit; apparently, they need me, but Cara's still here, so you'll be fine."

"Okay," answered Grace neutrally. "Bye, Kirsten." She put her book on the table and looked out the window a bit. Sure enough, there was Kirsten coming out of the house. She watched her stepmother get into a dark blue sports sedan—Ryan would recognize the make, model, and year, she reflected with a grin—and drive off. The neighborhood was beautiful: So many tall, shady trees; opulent, lush grounds; wonderfully well-kept pools with incredible patios and pool houses. And beyond that, the Pacific Ocean, glorious in its vastness and tumultuousness. What a world it was in which the Coopers lived...

Grace got back to her novel, enjoying the familiarity of the story. Perhaps the bedroom in which she was reading it had changed, but at least the story had stayed the same. Unfortunately, she didn't get too far in the book, either; she was interrupted by a slam of the door. It was first instinct to rush downstairs, and she did so without considering whether that was the best decision to make.

A tall boy she recognized from the family photo on the stairs stood in the doorway. He studied her face and body appreciatively.

"James Nichol Cooper," he said, holding out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Grace Andrea Cooper," she responded, shaking his hand. "I'm...your half-sister." James pulled away in surprise. Grace braced herself for a barrage of questions, but all he did was roll his eyes.

"Please, _please _don't tell my girlfriend about this," he moaned. "She's on my case about girls enough as it is. '_God,_ Cooper, you're even hitting on girls_ you're related to!_'" he screeched in falsetto. Grace smiled slightly and nodded. The door opened, and a short—well, in comparison to Grace's five feet, eight and a half inches—girl with long dark hair and a slender but curvy figure walked into the room.

"Jim!" she said in an annoyed voice, and Grace had to hold back a laugh, because Jim's impression of her moments ago had been spot-on. "When your girlfriend is parking her car after being kind enough to drive you home because you're still fifteen and don't have a license yet, it is considered good manners to wait in the car with her." She smacked him lightly on the back of his head.

"Yeah, it kind of is," agreed Grace with a slight smirk. The girl's dark eyes turned to her.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Jim's half-sister, Grace Cooper." The girl nodded, and stuck out her hand.

"Summer Roberts," she said, as she and Grace shook hands. "Jim's girlfriend. I didn't know he had a sister our age. You are our age, right? How old are you? What grade are you in?"

"I'm sixteen," replied Grace. "I'll be a junior as soon as school starts." Summer nodded.

"I'm a junior, too," she told her. "Wait...you're sixteen? Mr. and Mrs. Cooper have been married seventeen years—Mr. Cooper had an affair right after he married Mrs. Cooper? No way! How could people not know about it?—and, dude, how could he do it? Have you _seen _Mrs. Cooper?"

"Hey! That's my mom you're talking about," said Jim mildly, but the girls ignored him. Grace shrugged.

"I'll be seventeen in December," she said. "I think my mom and (she swallowed) dad had a really short affair before he and Kirsten got back together." Suddenly, Grace bit the bullet. "I've only ever lived with my mom and stepdad," she explained. "I hadn't met Kirsten until today. I still haven't met my father." Summer regarded her with what Grace could only assumed was a practiced gaze.

"Oh. So you're, like, almost a year older than Jim, then." She chose to ignore the rest of Grace's explanation, which Grace appreciated as she shrugged.

"I don't know anything about Jim. I met him today." The girls shared a smile.

"His birthday's October 29," Summer informed Grace. "He should be a sophomore; he missed the cut-off, but Mr. and Mrs. Cooper wanted him to start school before he turned five, and no one turns down Mr. and Mrs. Cooper around here. They're, like, the king and queen of Newport."

"Really?" asked Grace interestedly.

"Totally," Summer continued. "I mean, Mrs. Cooper's dad, Caleb Nichol, practically built this town, and Mr. Cooper's everybody's financial planner or whatever. Anyway, we all give him our money. They've been together forever," she enthused, and it was clear that she thought very highly of her boyfriend's family. "They even went to cotillion together. Mrs. Cooper was lead deb. So was I," she added, "at our cotillion this year." Grace had never heard of cotillion, but she imagined—correctly, as she would find out—that it was a fancy-dress debutante ball.

"That's...nice," said Grace, smiling. Her eyes caught Jim's—startlingly blue, just like his mother's.

"Anyway," Summer said, and Grace was beginning to realize that Summer didn't like to dwell on uncomfortable subjects. "I wanted going to do some back-to-school shopping, but my friend—Holly Fischer—bailed on me. I mean, I could bring Jim, but that wouldn't be any fun. Do you want to come?"

"Um..." said Grace helplessly. She liked Summer, and she liked shopping, but she had maybe forty dollars cash, total, in her wallet from her summer job, which it was clear she wasn't going to finish.

"You don't have to buy anything," assured Summer with a wave of her hands, which were decorated with hot pink and bright orange French-manicured nails. "Just, you know, keep me company and stuff. After all, I'm your brother's girlfriend, and I'll be one of your classmates soon, right? We should be friends." Grace smiled at how quickly Summer offered friendship. She was sure it was because she was a now a member of the Cooper family, and that the girl wouldn't have been half as kind if she had introduced herself as Grace Baldwin, from Riverside and, more recently, Chino, but it would be nice to have a friend.

"Sure. I mean...Jim...if that's okay with you?" He shrugged.

"Whatever. If you don't need me, I'll call up Luke and tell him I can make practice, after all." Summer snapped her fingers in annoyance.

"_That's _what Holly's dumping me for? _Water polo practice_? Bitch. She just said she was doing something with Luke. I'll see you later, then. Bye, Jim." She leaned over and kissed him. "Come on, Grace, let's go."

"Wait, let me leave a note first," said Grace.

"It's okay," Jim assured her. "I'll leave one for Mom and Dad when I go to practice; I'll say that you and Summer went shopping. It's cool."

"Thanks." She looked at the boy who was her younger brother with a thoughtful gaze. He seemed like a pretty nice guy. Did that mean that her dad was nice, too? Her stomach was churning. Summer had opened the door expectantly, and she followed. The other girl kept up steady chatter about the boys on the water polo team as they walked to her car, a silver BMW convertible.

"This is a really nice car," said Grace, raising her eyebrows. Summer nodded.

"Thanks. My dad bought it for me as a birthday gift."

"A birthday gift?" asked Grace, a hint of incredulity in her voice.

"Yeah, my sixteenth birthday was just two weeks ago," she said, missing the point. "You have a license, right?"

"Yeah," Grace confirmed, "but I don't have my own car."

"Well, if you're going to end up living with the Coopers, you will," said Summer casually. "They have more money than anyone in Newport, and they're not afraid of showing it. They have, like, four cars, and Jim doesn't even have his license yet. Four cars! We only have three," she explained. "My dad's Mercedes SUV, mine, and the stepmonster's—I mean_, Melanie_'s—Audi TT." She sighed. "I liked them myself, but then Dad bought one for _Melanie_ last year, and so of course I don't want one anymore. I mean, ew!" Summer looked at Grace with a sort of half-smile on her face. "You're lucky to have Mrs. Cooper for a stepmother. Mine's a real bitch."

"Where's your mother?" asked Grace curiously. Summer blinked and focused on the road, refusing to look at Grace even through her peripheral vision.

"She died seven years ago," she explained.

"I'm sorry..."

"It's not your fault," said Summer briskly as she pulled into the parking lot. She put the top up and they got out. But she smiled at Grace, a little bit bitter-sweetly.

Grace was a little bit overwhelmed by the mall. The clothes in the windows looked more or less the same as the ones she was used to, only they carried designer names and were much more expensive. Summer didn't seem to mind the prices at all, trying on outfit after outfit and encouraging Grace to do the same.

"Oh, my God, Grace, I am so jealous of your body," she gaped as Grace uncertainly stepped out of the dressing room in a tight pink sundress. The dress clung to her slender figure and set off her long, coltish legs to their best advantage.

"Why? You're the one with the boobs," teased Grace, to which Summer gave a small giggle and admitted, "True."

It was fun shopping with Summer, Grace realized, and if she just ignored the inflated prices, it was not really different from shopping at home with one of her other girlfriends. Grace had been fairly popular at her old school, and she worried about leaving Chino—which she was definitely doing, whether Mr. and Mrs. Cooper—Dad and Kirsten, she reminded herself—allowed her to stay in Newport Beach, or not. Summer was cool, and not only because she'd insisted on buying Grace the pink dress.

"It's my dad's money," she had shrugged. "Better spent on you than on _Melanie_."

On the drive back to the Cooper mansion, she had kept up the conversation to keep Grace's nerves from coming back, this time telling her all about her own girlfriends, especially Holly, with whom she was still angry.

"I mean, just because she's dating Luke and he's older," she explained as she turned onto the Coopers' street, "she thinks that she doesn't have to even, like, be polite to the rest of us. It's like, excuse me, he had to go to pre-first grade, so he's almost eighteen already, and this makes him ultra-special and ultra-worth ditching her friends. She's a whore, really, Grace, only she's worse, because whores at least get paid." Grace laughed.

"It's funny, isn't it, how whore is a worse insult than slut," she mused.

"Totally!" agreed Summer in a very Valley-girl sort of way, but Grace had already figured out that Summer's seeming empty-headedness covered a very shrewd intelligence. "All right, here we are. Mrs. Cooper's back," she noticed, gesturing to the blue car Grace had seen Kirsten driving.

"Thanks, Summer," said Grace with a smile. "That was fun."

"Yeah...call me sometime, okay? It was nice to meet you."

"Definitely." Grace got out of the car, and Summer drove off. As soon as she reached the porch, someone opened the door.

"Hi, Grace," he said, a bit uncertainly. Her eyes widened.

"Hi...Dad."

"Come in, come in," he urged, running his fingers through his brownish-blondish hair. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Oh," said Grace guiltily. "I'm sorry I wasn't around to help Kirsten." But Jimmy waved her off.

"Kirsten's a terrible cook. Nobody in this family really cooks, you know; that's Cara's job. Maid-slash-cook. Don't worry, we pay her well." He smiled. "We have to. We're very messy, and we're very hungry."

"Kirsten's messy?" Somehow, Grace didn't believe it.

"Well...no...she's not...but I am, and the kids are."

"You have three kids?"

"Four, counting you," said Jimmy carefully. "You really are Julie's daughter?" She nodded.

"If you want...I mean, you know, to be sure—a paternity test?" Jimmy shook his head vehemently.

"No, no," he said. "Julie's baby was my baby. No, I'm not naïve," he assured her. "If there's anything I knew about our relationship, it's that we were head-over-heels in love, or at least obsession, and there's nobody else's baby you could have been." He frowned. "Head-over-heels, that's pretty much normal. Wouldn't heels-over-head be weirder?" Grace smiled.

"But, yeah, I mean—Kirsten told me about your situation, and you can definitely stay with us. That is, if you want to..." Jimmy hesitated slightly.

"I do," said Grace with a smile. "At least, for now, as long as...you know...nothing..."

"Yeah, I know." He leaned over and gave her a quick hug.

"You're beautiful. You look a lot like your mother," he told her.

"Mr. Cooper, dinner is ready," said Cara politely, coming to the door.

"Right. Thanks, Cara. Grace?" She smiled and came in.

The two other children from the family portrait were already seated at the table and were quickly introduced as Caleb ("Cal") and Victoria ("Vicky"). Somehow, Grace managed to get through the meal, which was delicious. Cara was a good cook.

While the other kids—her brothers and sister, she reminded herself—wanted to stay up, Grace decided to go back up to her room. Her dad had been very friendly, just as nice as Lance, and...he was her real father. It was a little bit overwhelming to realize that she could just as easily have been brought up in this castle in Dreamland as in her two different homes in the real world.

Jimmy was lying on the bed, flipping through his newspaper, when Kirsten walked into the room. He smiled lovingly at her.

"Did I forget to tell you that you looked gorgeous today?" he complimented her lazily. She smiled.

"Thanks...Jimmy, we're going to need to do some things about Grace," she told him.

"What's that? She's pretty; she seems nice..." Kirsten nodded.

"I know that, but we don't know her very well yet. Yes, she's your daughter, but she's been raised by Julie. How well did you know Julie, really?" Jimmy frowned.

"Well...I slept with her a lot," he mused. "But, you mean, her personality, child-rearing ideas?"

"Yes," said Kirsten, sitting on the bed next to him.

"Not much, really," he confessed. "She was a lot younger than I was, like eighteen. And...God, Kirsten, no, I don't really know all that much about Grace. But...she's my daughter."

"I know," Kirsten agreed, laying her head on Jimmy's lap. He began to stroke her hair. "And I'm not saying I don't want her in the house. She seems like a nice enough kid—I mean, I don't know her very well yet, but she seems like a nice enough kid. But we should really get to know her, that's what I meant...and, you know, find out how she wants to do her room, enroll her in Harbor with Jim...all that stuff."

"Mmm...Kirsten? You're okay with the whole I-have-another-child thing, right? Because I could understand your not being okay with it." She sat up.

"Of course I am. I knew you had another child when I married you...or that you might have ended up with another child. I'm not upset at all. I got over Julie a long time ago, Jimmy."

"I have the greatest wife in the world," he told her lovingly, leaning over to kiss her. She pulled away.

"Jimmy, Grace is in the room next door. We should wait...you know, until she's definitely asleep..." Jimmy smiled and stroked Kirsten's cheek.

"Kiks, she's not going to mind it the way the other kids do," he told her, his hand slipping down her neck. "To her, we're just another couple, not really her parents yet, you know? And she'll be seventeen in a couple of months; it's not like we're going to have to administer any awkward conversations, and you...look really hot." She chuckled and kissed him softly.

"I'm not sure if I agree with you…but you make a good argument," she whispered, following with another, more passionate kiss.

"Is that a yes?" he asked when their lips broke apart. Kirsten kissed him again.

"I think so," she declared, and suddenly Jimmy's arms were around her, and he pulled her on top of him. She giggled.

"Come on, I want a definite answer," he teased, as his hands slid down to her ass. "Yes or no?" She bent and kissed him.

"Yes."

In the next room, Grace was trying to ignore the unmistakable sounds of sex, but it was getting harder as Kirsten's light giggles were juxtaposed against Jimmy's—Dad's—lower-pitched voice. And they were getting louder, too, as she realized, embarrassed, that the foreplay was becoming a bit more heated; they had definitely gotten past kissing. The sounds didn't disgust her the way Mom and Lance had, but after some of the things she heard, she was afraid she wouldn't be able to properly look Kirsten in the eye the next morning.

Suddenly, she was angry. He was her dad, and instead of marrying her mom and taking care of their family, a family of which _she _would be a part, he had married the "Queen of Newport" and started a family with her, and she, Grace, his first-born child, just as much his child as the blonds, was the outsider. It wasn't fair. After all, Kirsten Cooper was good-looking, but Mom was just as pretty. Prettier, thought Grace loyally; Mom really was beautiful, and Kirsten just looked—_washed out_, with her fair hair and fair skin and blue eyes and tiny body. There was no color to her, no fire; she looked just like a Scandinavian—

Goddess, she had to admit. Kirsten was gorgeous and kind, and she seemed smart and successful, and she had the effortless elegance that could only be achieved by coming from money. Grace knew that it wasn't fair to hold the fact that Mom had left her against Jimmy—Dad—and Kirsten, but she couldn't help it. It wasn't fair that Jim and Cal and Vicky Cooper got a perfect, white-bread family—it wasn't fair that Helen, Jerry, and new-baby Baldwin got a perfect, perhaps "brown-bread" family—and Grace was awkwardly suspended between them. It would have been easier, she realized, if Mom had raised her as Grace Baldwin, Lance's daughter, instead of clinging to the memory of James Cooper. Maybe then she really would have belonged.

Oh God. They were coming. Grace turned crimson as they got louder and louder, covering her head with her pillow, willing it to be over and—yes. Good. Time to go to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

"Good morning, Grace," said Kirsten casually the next morning as she came down for breakfast and found Grace sitting at the kitchen table, eating dry cereal with orange juice and coffee. She was fully dressed and sat with razor-back posture, she noticed, and was flipping through the morning newspaper.

"Hi, Kirsten," she said with a smile. "Sleep well?" She hadn't meant to say it, but _God_. How was she supposed to sleep when just when she thought that they were done, they did it _again_? Kirsten turned rather pink, but said only, "Pretty well, yeah, thanks. You?"

"The bed is really comfortable," Grace non-answered, not wanting to lie, but not having gotten much sleep at all.

"Good," said Kirsten distractedly as she opened a cabinet and took out a mug. She wasn't exactly dressed, observed Grace; she was wearing a green silk dressing robe and her hair was pulled messily off her face. _Not a big surprise, considering the night she had…_ "Did you make coffee?"

"Yeah," Grace said sheepishly. "Mom was never all that good at coffee-making. I mean," she hastened to say, "she could cook; she could do a lot of domestic stuff…but she couldn't really make a good cup of coffee." Kirsten smiled.

"It's about the only thing I _can_ make," she said with a laugh. "But Jimmy—your dad—is a pretty good cook when he wants to be." Grace frowned.

"He told me that he doesn't really cook…" she said.

"Well, compared to me," said Kirsten cheerfully, "he's five-star." She studied Grace's cereal.

"Where did you get that?" she asked curiously. Grace grinned.

"Top left cabinet, right by the fridge," she told her. Kirsten opened the cabinet and found, to her surprise, several varieties of cereal.

"Hey, beautiful," Jimmy said with a light kiss for Kirsten as he walked into the room. Noticing Grace, he added, "Morning, Grace."

"Hi…Dad," she said. He noticed her hesitation and caught her eyes.

"Grace, if you can't call me 'Dad,' I understand. 'Jimmy' is fine." Grace smiled.

"No, I like calling you 'Dad.' It's just going to take some getting used to." A thought occurred to her and she rushed on, "Unless you don't want me to—"

"Of course I want you to," he interrupted her, and reached over to ruffle her hair.

"Sorry. Vicky hates it when I muss her hair."

"I don't mind so much," said Grace, embarrassed.

"Jimmy, I didn't know we had breakfast cereal," said Kirsten, sitting down with a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.

"Oh, yeah, honey, Caleb likes it," he said, grabbing some bread and putting it into the toaster. "We've had maybe three kinds for the past…what, six years?"

"I am a terrible mother," said Kirsten, shaking her head and laughing ruefully. "I don't even know what my son likes to eat for breakfast."

"It's okay, honey," said Jimmy, sliding into the chair next to hers with a cup of coffee while he waited for his toast. "You're just not an early riser." He turned to Grace. "You have a good sleep?" They were going to keep asking her, weren't they, and she'd have to keep lying.

"Yeah, fine." Kirsten got up to go get dressed, and Jimmy and Grace sat together for awhile in awkward silence. Everything felt awkward these days…

"So, are the other kids—I mean, my brothers and sister…are they coming down soon?" Jimmy laughed.

"Our kids, get up before ten in the summer? Please. It was shocking seeing you in here this early."

"Yeah, well, I worked a summer job for awhile," said Grace, slightly embarrassedly. Jimmy smiled at her as Kirsten rushed back into the kitchen looking harried. It was clear that she had not finished her _toilette_, as her hairbrush was still in her right hand and she had a tube of lipstick in her left.

"Um, I have to go...Dad's busy being a slave driver and all. Jimmy, are you going to stay home?"

"Can't," said Jimmy, getting up as the bell rang on the toaster. "There's some crisis or other that—" He broke off and rolled his eyes. "I'll leave you the keys to the Mercedes, okay? If you want to go anywhere, I mean. You have a license, right?"

"Uh…yeah…but…you'll leave me the keys to your car? You don't even know me." Jimmy shrugged.

"You're my daughter. Besides, I mean, it's just a car. Maybe if something happens, I can convince Kirsten to break the German streak and let me have a Ferrari," he continued in a teasing voice. Grace shook her head.

"Thanks, Dad," she said without hesitating on the "Dad." She was proud of herself for that one.

"Okay, I really have to go now," said Kirsten. "Bye, Jimmy"—she gave him a light kiss on the lips—"Bye, Grace."

"Bye, Kirsten." Jimmy took his seat again and wolfed down the toast he had just finished butter-ing and jam-ing.

"I'll see you later, kiddo," he said, looking at Grace affectionately.

"Bye."

"Sorry about the noise last night," he whispered as he walked past her chair. Grace blushed. "Don't blame Kirsten; I talked her into it," he added, and she couldn't help noticing that he looked gleeful rather than sorry.

There didn't seem to be much to do once Kirsten and—Dad—had left. Grace glanced at the clock. It was only nine. By Dad's calculations, she had another hour of solitude before her brothers and sister woke up. But what was she going to do, anyway? While she didn't mind the morning paper, she drew the line at morning news programs, and talk shows had always gotten on her nerves. Besides, she was still uncomfortable using the Coopers' things; it was hard enough staying in the room and using the kitchen.

As Grace meandered through the house, avoiding her father's and Kirsten's offices, she caught a glimpse of the backyard through a window, and her eyes widened in shock. There was a sparkling infinity pool in the yard, a vast expanse of long but well-kept green grass, and a stunning array of colorful flowers. Though it was only nine o'clock, the sun shone brightly in typical summer-y southern-California fashion. Carefully, she walked out into the sun, and her breath caught in her throat. It was even more beautiful from outside. There was a pretty, cozy-looking pool house a few strides away from the pool, and Grace noted that it was not small, though her eyes were on the pool itself. It was a warm day already, and she was itching to go swimming. She mentally went through the hasty packing of her things that she had done before she'd left Chino. Yes, there had been a bathing suit, she decided, and darted back into the house.

Trying as hard as she could to be light-footed so that she wouldn't wake her half-siblings, Grace rushed up the stairs and slipped into her room. She opened the closet door and found her larger bag. Digging through it, she finally found the hot pink bikini she had bought the year before. She closed the door and quickly changed, but put a tee shirt and a pair of shorts on over the swimsuit before going back downstairs.

As she passed the kitchen, Grace heard a girl's voice call out to her.

"The sun's really strong out here. Make sure you get some sunscreen from the pool house." Grace turned and saw Vicky eating a muffin. Like her mother, she wore a dressing gown instead of clothes. She really did look extraordinarily like Kirsten, but her mannerisms were different, Grace realized. She had Jimmy's languid, easygoing demeanor more than she did Kirsten's precise, impeccable nature.

"Thanks," said Grace with a slight smile. "Is it locked?" Vicky shook her head.

"Mom and Dad are pretty trusting. Besides, Newport people are pretty trustworthy when it comes to that, you know? I mean, not that they're better than normal people...it's just that everybody pretty much has a pool and a pool house and all that crap. It's nothing special. Make sure you use the SPF 45, too, or you could really burn." Vicky studied her older half-sister. "Or maybe you won't. You obviously haven't inherited Mom's skin. Lucky you," she added dryly.

"I think Kirsten's beautiful," said Grace casually. Vicky rolled her eyes.

"Of course you do. Everyone thinks Mom's beautiful, because she is, and all I ever hear is how lucky I am that I look like her. It's so stupid. Mom looks the way she does because of a good mix of genes, and it's supposed to make her special, like, touch-me-not, I'm the great Kirsten Cooper. She's just a normal person, but nobody seems to get that."

"Why does that bother you?" asked Grace curiously. Kirsten seemed nice, though she didn't know her very well, and she _was_ beautiful. Vicky rolled her eyes again.

"Because it's stupid. Newport people are so phony. They treat Mom and Dad like royalty, just because they're better-looking and richer than even most of the neighbors."

"But aren't they, like, really successful professionally, too?" asked Grace, remembering Summer's words from the day before.

"Sure, but nobody cares about that. It doesn't matter where the money comes from so long as there's lots of it. And Mom and Dad aren't innocent in all this, either. If Newport treats them like king and queen, they treat everyone in Newport like their court." She snorted. "Sometimes, I think they do it without even thinking about it. Mom especially, but then maybe that's just because she hangs out with Newport women, who mostly sit at home or in their expensive cars and spend their husbands' money, so, you know, they have time to be catty. And she just sort of...does her little queen wave, or makes a little comment or whatever, and she acts like she doesn't know that everyone's making a big deal of every word that comes out of her mouth, but she does. She knows they think she's the greatest thing ever because she's Caleb Nichol's daughter and Jimmy Cooper's wife, and it's like this unbeatable combination or whatever. It annoys the hell out of me," she finished.

"I...well, whatever," said Grace lamely. "Thanks for the sunscreen tip."

"No problem." Vicky turned and looked at Grace more carefully.

"You really do look like Dad," she finally said. "Well, not Dad exactly, but Dad's family. You look a lot like Grandma, actually. I guess that's how Mom and Dad knew you really are his daughter." Grace smiled uncomfortably, wanting to like her younger sister but finding it difficult. She tried to remind herself of how impossible _she'd_ been at thirteen, but it didn't make Vicky any more appealing.

"Probably," was all she said, and she walked back outside, though she did follow Vicky's advice and enter the pool house, which she had to admit was gorgeous enough practically to be someone's residence. There was a pile of sun block bottles on a chest of drawers, and Grace covered herself rather liberally in the SPF 45.

She swam a quick lap in the pool, but soon the vigorous strokes gave way to leisurely floating in a floating rings she'd found. It was true bliss, she thought, to be lying in a gorgeous, private pool on what was shaping up to be a hot day, the heat radiating down on her body, with nothing to do. All her worries about her dad and his family, her mom and her family, and what-the-hell was going to happen to her managed to drift out of her head into the cool water. It was perfect. Well...not quite perfect. Perfect would mean Ryan floating next to her, or maybe getting her one of those blow-up rafts and then getting on it with her...or, thought Grace with a laugh in her head, getting it on with her...

"Hey, big sister," said a boy's voice—Jim, not Cal—and Grace opened her eyes.

"Hi, Jim," she said with a lazy smile. "Do you guys get to do this every day?"

"It gets boring after awhile," he answered, giving her a bemused grin. "But, yeah, it's fun just lying in the pool every now and then. Listen, I need to go to Summer's, and I was wondering if maybe Dad left you the keys to one of the cars."

"Can't Summer pick you up?" she asked, puzzled. "Isn't that what she did yesterday?"

"Yeah, but she just got her nails done, and she said there's no way she's going to drive all day."

"Really?" asked Grace interestedly. "I liked her nails. What color did she do them?"

"I have no idea. Anyway, Grace, did he leave you the keys?" She nodded.

"The Mercedes, he said. Not that I know which one that is," she added with a laugh. "I wasn't planning on driving it, but I could take you to Summer's if you want." Jim looked rather impressed.

"The Benz? Dad's only ever let me drive the BMW," he said with surprise. "It's older," he explained as Grace got out of the pool and began drying off with a towel she'd found in the pool house with the sunscreen.

"I don't really know the difference," she admitted, wringing out her hair. "They're foreign and they're expensive—and even that I only really know because Ryan, my boyfriend, thinks cars are fascinating." She put on her shorts but decided it was too hot and her hair was still too wet to put her shirt back on. Anyway, when she and Summer had been out shopping, she'd noticed plenty of girls in only bikini tops, and no one seemed to mind.

"Come on," said Jim. "I'll show you the parents' cars, or at least the ones that are here. There are four total, all German, but they're all different makes and, more importantly for someone who doesn't know much about cars, different colors." She picked the keys off the table on which she'd left them and followed him to the garage. He pointed to a black sedan with silver lettering. "That's the Mercedes. It's a 1999 E320, and mostly it's Mom who drives it, although not as much since she got her new car."

"It's four years old; how much newer can it get?" asked Grace incredulously.

"Correction; it was bought in the summer of '98, so it is five years old, and Mom currently drives an '04 Audi A6, blue in color with tan leather seats. Very nice car," he understated, "although personally I prefer Dad's '01 911 Carrera—that's a Porsche, of course," explained Jim, as Grace's face still registered uncertainty. "It's red, and men who drive red Porsches pay particularly high insurance, especially when, like Dad, they have a penchant for speeding, so according to the insurance company, it's Mom's car. The BMW 740i is a '98 and therefore the oldest car. It was originally driven by Dad, although not for long, because he didn't like it all that much. As you can see, it's green. So there you have it, the famous Cooper Car Collection," he finished with an I'm-not-taking-myself-all-that-seriously-grin. "Since Dad left you the keys to the Mercedes, I guess you'll be driving that one." Grace gave her brother a rather shell-shocked look. Four recent-model foreign sports cars for only two people who could drive?

"All right," was all she said, though, and she uncertainly got into the driver's seat of the Mercedes. She'd never driven anything near as luxurious as Kirsten's "old car," and she was a little bit nervous, but her father had given her the keys, so she adjusted the seat, checked the mirrors, and buckled her seatbelt. _It's just a car, just your father's car...that is, your _stepmother's _car...No, just a car, just a car; you have permission_. She put the car into reverse and backed away from the beautiful grounds.

"So...um, where does Summer live?" asked Grace once she'd pulled the car into the road.

"Not far away," Jim responded. "Thanks for doing this, Grace." He hesitated a moment. "You know what she said yesterday, that I should've been a sophomore but Mom and Dad pushed to get me into our grade?" She nodded. After barely a day and a half with the Coopers, she fully understood that any school would rush to do their bidding, not that Dad and Kirsten were mean or pushy or anything. There was just something about them—it was mostly Kirsten, she could admit—that was clearly _in charge_.

"Well, I mean, they thought it was best for me. But...it kind of sucks to be a full year younger than some of the kids in my grade. Sometimes I wonder why they did it, you know? I guess it's because I'm the oldest, but...eh. It's not that I get teased or anything; it's just that...you know..." He couldn't seem to come up with the words he wanted, but Grace understood.

"Parents," she agreed. "Sometimes they hurt you the most when they think they're doing what's right for you."

"Yeah. Turn left here," he instructed her, and she put on her signal.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"What are they like, really? Dad and Kirsten, I mean. Because I haven't really had a chance to—you know, get to know them." He paused thoughtfully.

"They're good people, and I'm not just saying that because they're my parents," he started. "Mom really wears the pants in the family, you know, and Dad likes it better that way. She wants everything to be just right, and yeah, I guess she's still a little bit spoiled. She's always been Grandpa's favorite—I mean, she chose the wrong college, but she married the right guy and went to work for Grandpa, so I guess she made things up there." Jim shrugged. "Dad...is a little bit more happy-go-lucky. He wants things to go Mom's way, too. I definitely never had to worry about my parents fighting or whatever," he laughed, "because whenever they disagree, Dad kind of defers to Mom. He's put her on a pedestal for as long as I can remember. I guess that's strange, but—all right, make another left, and then go straight until you get to number sixteen—it's strange, but pretty much everyone puts Mom on a pedestal around here. I definitely don't envy Vic for having to be her daughter." Grace nodded. She could tell that her father doted on his wife, and Vicky had certainly conveyed the fact that she was tired of having to be "Kirsten Cooper's daughter." Grace was beginning to realize that the Newport Beach people were essentially the people she'd known her whole life, only given much more money and very different priorities.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Okay, so apparently when I had to make a small change in the last chapter, I forgot this part. So here's the essence of what I wrote before: Basically, I assured she-loves-shoes that I've always been intrigued by the what-if-Kirsten-and-Jimmy-got-married idea, which is why I wrote this, and I do hate to break couples up. That being said, Sandy will show up because I like him too much to keep him away, and there's no telling what he'll do. As for Ryan, he'll probably show up, too, but we'll have to see (including me; I really don't have any idea where I'm going with this.) I am sorry that I had to eliminate Seth, but there's no way he could've fit in the timeline. All right, here I go._**

"Here we are," she announced, more to herself than to her brother, as he'd already undone his seatbelt and barely waited for her to turn off the car before opening his door.

"Thanks again," he said with a smile. "I owe you one. You can get back home okay?" Grace nodded.

"Yeah, it's no trouble." She laughed. "Don't mention it—it was kind of fun. I've definitely never driven such a nice car before." Suddenly the Roberts' door opened, and Summer stepped onto the porch.

"Cooper, are you just going to stand there, knowing I'm waiting for you?" she asked, her tone just under a whine, but then she smiled. "Hi Grace," she called, waving. Grace noticed the nails: dark pink with jeweled decals on the tips. She waved back. "Thanks for driving him."

"No problem," she called back. "See you, Summer." With a glance behind her, Grace pulled out of the Roberts's driveway and began to head back home. Once she got there, she panicked for a moment, realizing she didn't have house keys, but then she noticed the other keys on the key ring Dad had given her. They must be for the house, she decided, relaxing. She'd have to ask Vicky or Cal to help her get the car back into the garage; Jim had handled it before, and she wasn't sure if she remembered what he'd done.

"Hey, can someone help me get Kirsten's car back into the garage?" she asked tentatively as she opened the front door. Nobody seemed to hear her over the sound of the television. Grace thought a minute and tried to remember where Kirsten had said the TV was. She made it to the rec room and found Cal watching syndicated reruns of _Full House_.

"Cal, do you know how to get the car in the garage?" He looked away from the screen and nodded.

"I'll show you," he said, and she followed him outside to the wide driveway in which she'd parked the Mercedes.

Meanwhile, Kirsten was sinking deeper and deeper into a quicksand of work. She was becoming overwhelmed, but there was no way she could cut back; Jimmy had made some bad investments and was working on getting his portfolio back to where it needed to be. Their dual-income family was now mostly subsiding on her job as No. 2 at the Newport Group, and while she made more than enough money for the Cooper family to keep up its lifestyle, Kirsten wasn't used to the pressure of the family's depending on her. She checked her watch. It was almost lunch time. _Maybe I should check on the kids—well, Grace, and then go out to eat._

"Cooper residence," said Cara's voice as always.

"Hi, Cara, it's Mrs. Cooper. Is Grace home?"

"She and Mr. Caleb are outside getting the Mercedes back into the garage, ma'am."

"Oh. Where did they go?"

"I believe that Mr. James wanted a ride to Miss Roberts' house, and Miss Grace drove him there."

"She's okay, then?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thanks so much, Cara. Oh, I meant to ask you—for dinner tonight, could you please make that Indian dish I like so much?"

"Of course, Mrs. Cooper."

"You're the best. See you tonight." Kirsten hung up the phone and twirled a pen absently in her long fingers. So Grace had taken Jim to Summer's house. Kirsten was becoming a little bit more comfortable with the idea of Jimmy's illegitimate daughter living with them, but she still didn't know anything about the girl, and, as Jimmy had made crystal-clear the night before, neither did he. She could only think of one person who knew anything about Grace: Sandy Cohen. Absently, Kirsten began to search through her purse for the slip of paper on which he'd written his phone number.

Sandy Cohen had been a friend of her roommate's boyfriend back in college, she recalled, and had flirted with her an awful lot before finally asking her out. He'd had impeccable manners, though she had known that, to her father, they wouldn't have come close to making up for his lack of family money. Though Caleb Nichol had had to work hard and get his hands dirty to build the Newport Group, he had come from one of the quintessential "old money" families that had run into financial ruin and looked down on the _nouveau riche_; he had married into one of the most blue-blooded families in the country without trouble, trading on the Nichol name. The fact that Sandy didn't even have _new _money was just water under the bridge. In retrospect, Kirsten thought that her father's obvious disapproval was part of Sandy's appeal. He had been a good guy, though, and very honest; she could trust him to tell her the truth about her stepdaughter.

"California PD," said a rather harried female voice when she telephoned.

"Hello, this is Kirsten Cooper," she said politely. "May I please speak with Mr. Sanford Cohen?"

"Sure—SANDY!" called the woman. "Line 2!"

"Sandy Cohen," he said a moment later. "May I ask who's calling?"

"This is Kirsten," she blurted. "Kirsten Cooper, Grace's stepmother?"

"Mrs. Cooper, sure, I remember you," Sandy said easily. "What can I do for you?"

"I was hoping we could talk about Grace: her schooling and such, you know?"

"No problem. What do you want to know?" She hesitated.

"I'd rather not talk about it on the phone...Can we meet for lunch or something?" Sandy glanced at his watch.

"Where are you?"

"The Newport Group; that's where I work. Why?"

"I don't think I have time. Tell you what, Mrs. Cooper, why don't we get together for drinks after work instead?" Kirsten considered for a moment.

"Sure, that sounds fine. Where?" He named a reasonably nice bar/restaurant not terribly far away.

"Okay," she agreed. "See you around five-thirty?"

"That's good for me," he told her cheerfully.

"Great. I'll see you then. Good-bye, Mr. Cohen." She still remembered him as "Sandy," but he had called her "Mrs. Cooper," so she reverted to the more formal name.

"Bye, Mrs. Cooper." She cradled the phone and thought a moment. This was actually happening: she, Kirsten Cooper, had a second teenage daughter.

The rest of the day trudged on, Kirsten working fervently even through lunch so as to ensure that she could leave to meet Sandy with an easy conscience. She didn't normally leave work before six-thirty, but she hadn't wanted to inconvenience him, so she'd suggested a more normal "after-work-drinks" time, but it meant she had less time to get through the massive amount of work that the new development the company was building created.

At five o'clock, Kirsten sighed and put her unfinished work in the sleek leather attaché Jim had given her as a Mothers' Day present just months before, smiling fondly as she thought of the little boy who had grown up so much recently; he was taller than she was now, and she had a suspicion that things were getting serious between him and Summer Roberts. Kirsten smiled and waved good-bye to the receptionist as she walked out of the building. She liked Summer, who had inherited her father's brains and her mother's sweet heart. She had also, reflected Kirsten with a slight smirk, managed to end up with soap-opera good looks, despite the fact that neither of her parents had been exceptionally attractive.

Kirsten got to the restaurant early, and she retreated to the bathroom to make sure she looked okay. She touched up her makeup and brushed her hair and then went to the bar to wait for Sandy Cohen. She ordered a scotch on the rocks and sat, sipping it slowly.

"Mrs. Cooper," called a voice that was touched with a New York accent; in southern California, though, the touch was enough to be extremely exotic. He took a seat next to her.

"Hi, Mr. Cohen." He grinned.

"Aw, you can call me Sandy. I'm not used to people being so formal," he joked. "I think your stepdaughter was the first kid I've met to call me 'Mr. Cohen.'" Kirsten smiled awkwardly.

"Then you should call me Kirsten," she told him as he asked the bartender for a Molsen. "Let's get a table, though, I don't really like sitting on bar stools anymore."

"Anything you like," agreed Sandy amiably. They moved to a table, and Sandy took off his jacket. Kirsten drank a little faster from nerves.

"So, um, I guess Grace is going to be living with us now," she started, "and we're going to need her school records so that we can enroll her properly." She downed her scotch, the ice cubes still mostly un-melted, and ordered another. "And...I mean, we don't know anything about her except that she's Jimmy's daughter with Julie...something. You know, I don't even remember her last name, that's how little I've thought about her for the past sixteen years. So...I mean, if you can, I'd like to know what you do about her."

"It's not a lot," warned Sandy. "Grace lives, or she did up until two days ago, with Lance and Julie Baldwin and two younger siblings: Helen, who is fourteen, and Gerald, who is nine. She got pretty good grades, good test scores—stronger in math than English, by the way. She was arrested for shoplifting two bottles of nail polish and some nail polish remover from a drug store, maybe eight dollars' worth of stuff. Normally she would've been let off by the police, but there's been a lot of crime recently in her area. Some officers deal with it by easing up on all but the murderers and bigger-time drug dealers; others deal with it by being much harsher on everyone. It was Grace's bad luck to meet up with a member of the latter group." He smiled ruefully. "She doesn't have a prior record at all. I only met her the one time, so really you and your husband ought to have a better knowledge of her personality than I do." It was Kirsten's turn to smile.

"Thanks. I was wondering what she'd done to need help with a 'legal trouble,' but that doesn't sound any worse than what the girls do at home. So, Sandy," she continued, in a different tone. "I have to ask why you never called me." His face registered a look of confusion.

"After we went out," she explained. "I gave you my number, but you never called. I remembered not long after you left yesterday." He considered.

"How come you never called me?" he countered teasingly. "I gave you my number." She gave a small shrug.

"Girls don't call; at least, we're not supposed to make the first call. That's the boy's job." Sandy laughed. He had a nice laugh, Kirsten noticed. Like Jimmy's, it filled his whole face and went all the way to his—very blue—eyes.

"Ah, I guess I was a little bit intimidated by you," Sandy admitted. "I mean look at you. Gorgeous, rich, smart, and _even_ nice—who would've guessed," he kidded. "I figured you'd had a momentary lapse in judgment that wasn't likely to happen again, and I'd just be wasting my time. Why?" Kirsten demurred a little, looking a bit sheepish.

"Well, you know, you were the first boy I ever went out with who said he'd call but didn't," she explained. "It kind of hurt my feelings, now that I remember." Sandy gave her an apologetic chuckle.

"I'm sorry. If I'd known you wanted me to call, I would have. Believe me," he assured her. "But...ah, I had just gotten over my ex-girlfriend, and I wasn't quite ready to have the next girl I asked out dump me unceremoniously, as I'm sure you would have."

"Don't be so quick to judge me," said Kirsten with a knowing look on her face. "I might have fallen hopelessly in love with you, and we would've gotten married and driven off into the sunset together."

"I guess we'll never know," he said with mock sincerity, and she smiled again.

"The choices we make in life," she teased. "What if we were destined to be the parents of a great—artist, or a musician? Because you didn't have the nerve to call a girl, the world will never know the next Mozart."

"My deepest apologies to the artistic community for lack of guts." Sandy's cell phone rang just then, interrupting a slightly discomfited silence.

"What's that? Yeah, I can…he did _what_? Okay, Judy, I'll be there. I love you. Bye." Turning to Kirsten, he added, rather unnecessarily, "That was my wife. Apparently my son has just been found in a rather compromising situation with a girl." Kirsten didn't seem upset.

"Your son is seventeen, right?" she asked. "My son still isn't sixteen, but I'm pretty sure he and his girlfriend have at least gotten close." Sandy shook his head.

"This is my fourteen-year-old, and my boys know that the rule is no sex in the house—or the car, in Jake's case. I gotta go. It was nice seeing you, though." He reached for the jacket that he'd hung on his seat.

"Yeah," Kirsten agreed. "We should talk again sometime." She stood up and shook his hand. He eyed her with concern.

"You drank those scotches a bit fast. Are you gonna be okay to drive home?" Kirsten nodded distractedly.

"Sure, I'll just get something to eat and I'll be fine." She flashed him a grin. "If we had time and I didn't have to go home to my family, I'd prove I can drink you under the table."

"All right. If you'll be okay…"

"In all seriousness, Sandy, thanks, but I'll be fine."

"Okay. I'll just go pay the bill then, and—"

"Hold on. I asked you; I'll pay."

"But I'm the man. Proper etiquette demands—"

"But this isn't a date, so really, it's who-asked-whom." They considered each other for a moment. "I'm not going to let you," she told him, her firm tone offset by twinkling eyes.

"Fine. You win. You can pay," he said with mock anger. "I'll see you, then. Bye, Kirsten."

"Bye, Sandy."

It wasn't until she'd finished a salad and a small plate of onion rings and asked for the check that she found out he'd managed to take the bill himself, anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

**_A bit shorter, sorry...but I've got a fair amount of ideas planned. I think I might actually know where I'm going with this--thrilling thought--but not sure if the characters will behave; they're quite pesky like that. Ryan is coming soon, so don't worry about him. Thanks for all the reviews; they're so exciting! All right. Enjoy._**

As Kirsten stepped out of her car and casually pressed the button on the key to lock the doors—more from force of habit than need—she felt her husband's lips on her neck and hands slide around her waist, and she shivered.

"Jimmy, you startled me," she scolded, though she didn't sound angry at all as she turned in his arms to face him. He smirked at her and leaned over to kiss her shoulder. "What time did you get home?"

"About ten minutes before you," said Jimmy absently.

"And you've just been waiting in the garage?"

"Yeah...I wanted to talk to you, and there are four teenagers inside." He pulled away from Kirsten's neck and stood, facing her and still holding her by the waist but with space between them. "We have four teenagers in our house," he said again, apparently shocked by the realization.

"Yes, we do," agreed Kirsten, kissing him. Jimmy frowned.

"Have you been drinking?" he asked. "You smell like scotch."

"Still?" she queried in surprise. "I'm surprised I don't smell like onion rings."

"Well, you do," he acknowledged. "But I'm your husband; I can smell even the faint scent of alcohol on your breath. Is everything okay at work?"

"Yeah, of course," Kirsten assured him. "I met with Sandy Cohen after work for drinks so that we could talk about Grace. Work is fine."

"Oh," said Jimmy, looking relieved but a little embarrassed.

"Is something wrong, honey?"

"I'm just...still feeling bad about the whole portfolio fiasco. You've been working really hard, and I...now we have a fourth child, entirely my fault, and you're going to be paying for her, too. Kirsten...I'm just not used to not making my own money, living on my wife's hard work."

"It's okay, Jimmy. The stock market has sucked for the past two, three years. And besides, it's not _my _money; it's our money. That's the idea of a marriage, remember?"

"I know, but still."

"And hey," Kirsten continued, putting her hands on Jimmy's shoulder blades and pulling herself closer to him. "Don't bring Grace into this. It wasn't _your_ decision to let her be a part of our family. It was our decision." She kissed him. "I'm happy with our lives exactly the way they are, okay? So don't worry about me." They kissed again slowly.

"You think dinner's ready yet?" she murmured into his collarbone.

"Probably," he told the locks of blonde hair pressed against his lips.

"Time to go inside?"

"Sure," he sighed, "but after dinner we're going to finish this."

"Okay," Kirsten agreed, "but we can't stay up as late as last night; it's too tiring. I have a lot of things I need to get done tomorrow."

"I can try," Jimmy told her mischievously, "although there's no telling what you'll be saying when caught up in the madness that is Jimmy and Kirsten Cooper."

She laughed at the silly expression on his face, and they left the garage and headed for the house.

"Mom!...and Dad, arriving at the exact same time. Definitely don't want to think about that," said Caleb drolly. Jim, who was sitting next to him, elbowed his little brother firmly.

"Cal," he said warningly. "Grace, you too, since you're new: The motto among the Cooper children when it comes to _that_ is ignore, deny, avoid."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said embarrassedly, remembering the impossibility of all three given her bedroom's proximity to the adult Coopers'. Kirsten rolled her eyes.

"You, too, will be old one day," she warned, tossing her long hair back and tucking it behind her ears. She took her seat at the foot of the table as Jimmy walked over to the head. The Coopers, Grace had learned, kept very proper table etiquette no matter what the topic of discussion was.

"So, Grace, I heard Jim talked you into driving to Summer's," said Kirsten pleasantly. "How did that go?"

"Fine," said Grace shyly. "I didn't mess up your car; don't worry about that..." Kirsten waved the subject off with a careless flourish of her hand.

"It's just a car. Meanwhile, I'm surprised, you've only been living here two days, and already Jim has you doing his bidding. Be careful, or he'll walk all over you," she teased.

"Hey, the fact that Grace is a nice big sister does not mean that I'm walking all over her," volunteered Jim.

"I'm sure it doesn't, sweetheart," said Kirsten kindly before turning back to her stepdaughter. "Although he does think he's king of the castle, and he has tried to enslave each member of the family already."

"Mom!"

"What?" she asked innocently. Jim rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, Grace, we should go out together sometime and figure out what's going to happen with you," continued Kirsten, changing the topic. "You'll need to transfer schools, which means you'll want to catch up on summer reading while it's still summer, and you'll probably need new clothes, and—I want to know all about your life, too. Can we do that, say, lunch tomorrow?"

"Uh...sure, I guess," said Grace, a little overwhelmed.

"Great. I'll write out directions to the Newport Group, and you can meet me there around noon tomorrow. Sorry, sweetie, I'd come home, but I have a ton of work to do and it would just be easier if you came to work," she explained.

"No, don't worry about it," was the slightly embarrassed response. "That's fine." Dinner continued in the elegant but familiar way that Grace was learning was the Coopers' trademark. Jim and Cal excused themselves at eight to watch some TV show they liked, and Grace noticed that while they asked Dad to be excused, they were looking at Kirsten. Kirsten and Dad excused themselves, too, claiming that they both had work to do, though Grace suspected that not much of that work was going to get done.

Judith Cohen was worried. Sandy normally arrived home promptly after work, but she'd come home to a house empty of everyone except Sam and his girlfriend, doing things she'd hoped he wouldn't learn about for, oh, another sixteen years. Or maybe more. And once she'd called him, she'd hoped that he'd be home right away—hoped that he had, for once, used bad judgment and picked up his cell phone while driving. He hadn't, and Judith had sent her son to his room and his girlfriend home—she was a neighbor—and now she waited for her husband.

"Hi, baby," he said, rushing quickly through the door. "Sorry I wasn't home to help you; I was meeting a client for drinks after work…" He gave her a quick kiss. "What'd I miss?" Judith rolled her eyes.

"Be glad you missed it," she said. "He's my _baby_, Sandy…I sent him to bed. We need to deliver the lecture. What are we going to say?" She was already turning to the stairs. Sandy chuckled and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Hold your horses, Judy," he told her. "Let's draw out the waiting period."

"But—"

"Jude. When you were a kid, if your mom caught you going at it? Which is more painful, the lecture or the interim?" She started to answer, then stopped short.

"You're right. As always," she teased him playfully. "So…which client was this?"

"Kirsten Cooper," he told her, walking over to the fridge and extracting a beer. He turned and faced a bagel in his wife's hand. "Ah, Judy. I haven't told you recently how much I love you." They kissed lightly.

"So who's Kirsten Cooper? Drug dealer, thief…prostitute?" asked Judith absently. Sandy held back an embarrassed laugh.

"Ah…no, babe. She's a very successful, clean-cut millionaire—CFO of a real estate company—and she's certainly not a criminal, maybe abused diet pills _once_ in her life…" He shook his head with a rueful grin. "But she's Grace Cooper's stepmother, and she wanted to find out what I know about the girl's past."

"Oh," laughed Judith. "Good for her. Completely stuck-up and haughty, right?"

"Wrong again," whistled Sandy. "C'mon, Judy, I've never known you to be wrong twice in a row like that…she's actually a pretty nice woman. I knew her in college, actually, back when she was still Kirsten Nichol." His wife frowned and furrowed her brow.

"Wait…was she 'Tiny Dancer'?" He shook his head.

"You're thinking of Kathy—Kathleen Donahue, the ballerina," he told her, his eyes growing a bit misty. "Kirsten was 'Uptown Girl'—gorgeous, born to money, well-bred…" He broke off as he saw his wife's face become a bit downhearted.

"But, hey, Judy, you know that's in the past, right? It's all water under the bridge. I love you."

"Yeah," she said, a little too quickly. "I know. But…Sandy?"

"Hmm?"

"Did I have…a cute song nickname, too?" Sandy paused thoughtfully.

"You know, I don't think so. Only ex-girlfriends—or, in Kirsten's case, ex-crushes—got song names. I've still got you." His arms snaked around her waist, but she still looked a bit put-off.

"I can give you one, if you like," he murmured, leaning toward her neck. "How about 'You're the One That I Want'? Or maybe…ah…'I Get a Kick Out of You'? Or, I know, what do you think of 'The Lady is a Tramp'?" He chuckled the last sentence into her ear, making her shiver.

"'I'm the Only One,'" Judith claimed, snuggling against his chest. "Promise?"

"Promise." Sandy pulled his wife closer for a kiss; then he glanced at his watch over her shoulder. "So, do you figure we've punished that son of ours enough yet?"

"No," she said steadfastly. "Waiting is not punishment enough. He's my _baby_, Sandy," she repeated. "Nothing is punishment enough for allowing me to walk in on him…and her…" Judith shivered.

"We could always give him a taste of his own medicine," offered Sandy, arching his eyebrows suggestively.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you," she mumbled into his chest. "I still haven't told you _what_, exactly, they were doing…"

Back at the Coopers', Kirsten and Jimmy had managed to get through their, um, "work," and were ready to talk. Luckily, Grace wasn't in bed yet and had been spared the…intricate details of the intimate inner workings of the Newport Group and the…exciting, breathless travails of working with the stock market.

"So Sandy said she's a good kid," explained Kirsten, twirling a fine lock of Jimmy's fair chest hair around her finger. "Which we really knew already, but it's nice to have your suspicions confirmed."

"Mmm…yeah," agreed Jimmy sleepily, his arm resting rather heavily around his wife's waist.

"There's still time to get her enrolled at Harbor," she continued as he pulled her closer to his body.

"Yeah, the placement test and all that," mumbled Jimmy. "They don't usually have a lot of open spaces starting junior year, though, right?"

"They can make an exception for Jimmy Cooper's daughter," said Kirsten coolly. "And, I mean, Dad and I built this town. We do have clout." Jimmy seemed to wake up for the first time.

"I've never seen you like this, Kiks," he said, regarding her face carefully. "You…are starting to sound like…my mom. Your mom. All the Newport moms."

"I _am_ a Newport mom, honey," she chastised. "And I always liked Danielle; you know that."

"Yeah, but…you were always a Newport _chick_," Jimmy explained. "You know…lots of booze, short skirts, promises never to be like your phony, power-hungry mothers," he teased gently. She smiled.

"I'm not like my mother," she protested lazily. "And you'd better not think I'm like _your_ mother, not so soon after what I just did to _you_…that, lover, would be absolutely wrong in the Oedipal, incestuous, V.C. Andrews sense." Her voice was a soft, silky coo.

"You're right; you are absolutely nothing like my mother," he assured her, suddenly so adamant that it made her laugh. "God…I love you, Kirsten." She crinkled her nose cutely and kissed him on his own nose.

"You, too."


	6. Chapter 6

_**More already? Yup. If you like this story, I guess you're benefitting from the fact that I've been overcome with a desire to avoid my summer reading. I've actually almost finished the next part...Anyway, tell me what you're thinking.**_

Grace woke to a quiet house the next morning and took a moment to lie in bed, contemplating the days which had so quickly passed. It had been two days since she had been Lance Baldwin's daughter, albeit one named "Cooper," but Lance had always been dad. When she was little, Grace had actually thought that all children called their fathers "Lance." It had been Mom, reminiscing about a fling of her youth, who had drawn Grace's attention to the fact that she did not wholly belong. The "James Cooper" of Mom's descriptions had been handsome, wealthy, beautifully mannered, and gentlemanly up until she had gotten pregnant. He had refused to marry her, and that was why Grace was never to give up her youth and innocence to a man who hadn't given her a ring, Mom had explained. Grace's girlfriends had assured her that these were terribly old-fashioned notions, not to be believed—of course she should sleep with Ryan; he was smart; he was kind; and most importantly, he was hot. Grace, however, knew from personal experience that accidents happen. Yet there was an unsettling feeling in the pit of her soul that Mom wouldn't have changed her, the reminder of the man who had been comfortable using a girl from the wrong side of the tracks until she threatened his precious destiny, into Lance's daughter even if she had had the choice. She remembered being twelve, hearing Mom's voice in her head, bitterly lamenting, "But of course, rich people, sweetheart; they have their whole lives planned out for them. Your father was going to marry that well-bred, well-mannered, well-educated _brat_ of a blonde he'd dated since high school. There was never a chance for me." But even so, there had been enough of a taste of wistfulness in the bitter voice of a woman who, at only thirty, was too young to have a daughter who already dwarfed her, to convince Grace that Mom was glad to have a daughter who was a Cooper.

And now Grace knew who the Coopers were, knew why James Cooper's daughter was important to Mom in a way Lance Baldwin's children could never be. Mom loved Lance; _God_ did Grace know that, but she also knew that Mom had always wanted to be better. She had dreamed of being an interior decorator at one time, dreamed of—but all of Mom's fantasies seemed to end in marrying a rich man and living happily ever after. Grace had always had contempt for her mother's fairytale dreams; that is, until she met Dad and Kirsten. Suddenly, she understood how Mom could believe in fairytales. After all, what were Dad and Kirsten if not a prince and princess living a happily-ever-after right before her eyes? What got to Grace most of all was how, while Mom had always spoken dreamily, not quite realistically, about a fantasy ending, Kirsten seemed to take hers wholly for granted, as if she had never been given reason to suspect anything but that she would marry her handsome prince and live happily and _beautifully_ for the rest of her days. It felt vaguely disloyal to Mom to like Kirsten so much; Mom had always spoken bitterly of the "blonde princess" whom Dad had abandoned her to marry. But Kirsten seemed genuinely nice, and Grace still hadn't forgotten the helplessness in her stepmother's voice the day that Mr. Cohen had brought her to the Cooper mansion as Kirsten claimed that Mom had just disappeared. Grace felt a hot surge of anger towards Mom, towards Dad, towards Kirsten. Maybe she should see a therapist about all her unexpressed rage, she mused sardonically; her new family certainly had enough money to resurrect Freud himself to treat her.

Sighing, she got out of bed and walked over to the closet. She still hadn't hung up any of her own clothes, but on one of the hangers was the pink sundress which Summer had bought. The rayon was slim-fitting and sleek over Grace's slight frame, and the chiffon short-sleeved jacket meant that she felt a bit more comfortable than she normally did in such revealing clothes. She had never minded short skirts, but tight tops had always made her shy, wishing she had her mother's, or even Helen's chest. The coltishness had evidently come from the Cooper side of her family, and like all girls, Grace lusted after what she didn't have, barely giving a thought to the lucky looks she did have. Anyway, she figured that anything Summer would buy was formal enough for lunch with Kirsten.

Lunch with Kirsten. It was a scary thought. To be sure, Grace liked Kirsten, but she seemed a bit standoffish, not nearly as openly warm and loving as Dad. It was also clear that despite how Kirsten teased Jim about wanting to be "king of the castle," she herself was queen and had always been queen.

She finally finished dressing and quickly rushed down the stairs. Dad was in the kitchen today, brewing coffee as he stood around in casual jeans and polo top.

"Hey, kiddo," he said cheerfully. "Up early again, I see. I guess it's true proof you're the only kid in this house who isn't Kirsten's." He poured her a cup of coffee and sat down, gesturing for her to sit next to him. Then he leaned over conspiratorially.

"She looks perfect, but she does have a few faults." Grace giggled self-consciously.

"Really? What are they?"

"Um...she doesn't like getting up early, instead of bouncing out of bed at five A.M., ready to start a new day," he said, checking off "one" on his left hand. "She can't cook...she always falls asleep before the movie is over...oh, and she's _allegedly_ gained three pounds since we got married," he finished, stressing the word "allegedly" with amusement. He counted his fingers. "Hmm. I could've sworn Kirsten had a whole handful of imperfections..." Dad was laughing lightly until he noticed Grace's slightly crestfallen look. Instantly, his face shifted.

"That's nothing against your mom," he said quickly. "I mean, I didn't know her very well, but she was just great," he continued, his voice taking on a reminiscent quality. "Gorgeous as hell, and with such a strong, fiery spirit. God, Julie was such an anti-Kirsten," he said with a laugh. "She was exactly what I needed—nothing against Kirsten, of course," he reminded her. "But, God, after six and a half on-and-off years of Kirsten, she was an adventure! She just oozed sensuality, and mystery, and excitement...she was the sort of girl who was always up for a challenge, never afraid that it would ruin her hair or nails or figure, you know?"

"So Mom was the cheap hooker you fooled around with before you married the lady of your dreams," said Grace bitingly without thinking. Instantly, Dad's face fell.

"No...no, Grace, she wasn't. I cared a lot about your mother; she was a wonderful woman, but life is complicated, you know? I wasn't ready to marry her...I'd barely known her a few months when she told me she was pregnant. I wanted to take things slowly, you know, re-evaluate our situation, see what we could make work...but Julie wanted a ring and nothing less. And then Kirsten stopped, you know, sowing her wild oats; she left Berkeley and started working for her father's company, and we...and your mom disappeared...and..." He trailed off hopelessly, took a deep sip of his coffee, and looked Grace in the face.

"It wasn't that I didn't, or couldn't, love your mother. But I wasn't ready to marry her. I was ready to marry Kirsten; I'd been ready to marry Kirsten for five years. I knew her; she knew me; we were each other's social, an-and physical, and—we were a match, and I'd always loved her."

"More than you loved Mom?"

"Well...yes," he admitted rather reluctantly. "Maybe I could have loved Julie as much as I love Kirsten, but I wasn't ready to marry her yet. I didn't know her favorite song...her favorite flower...I didn't _know_ her. And she didn't want me for anything other than a husband...Kirsten...Kirsten was everything I'd ever wanted, and ever since we were kids, everyone had told me I'd be crazy to let her go. And you know, I would have been. I know it hurts, kiddo, but I don't think your mom and me would've worked out. Kirsten is...my life, my everything. I love her. It wouldn't have been fair to Julie. It wouldn't have been fair to me."

"What about me?" whispered Grace. What Dad was saying made sense, but...but...Dad sighed.

"I'm sorry, Grace. It's not fair to you. But I'm going to try to make it up to you, all right? I want you to be happy." He reached out and gently stroked her hair. "You look like your mother," he said softly. "You look like a blend of Julie and my mom, and that's a good thing. They're two beautiful women...and you're beautiful, too."

Kirsten appeared in the doorway, shattering the moment. She looked lovely in a brilliant blue tailored pantsuit and ruffled cream silk blouse.

"Up early again, huh, Grace," she said. Her voice was cheerful but tired. "And yet you seem to enjoy it..." She shook her head. "There are just some mysteries of this world..."

"I like the mornings," said Grace softly. "They're quiet and peaceful and...I don't know...I think the early morning is the most wonderful time of day."

"You share that with your father," smiled Kirsten as she leaned over to kiss Jimmy on the cheek. "He's always liked mornings. I've tried to turn him off them, but it's just not working."

"It's the one thing about me she'll never fix," laughed Jimmy good-naturedly, kissing his wife's hand while she poured coffee.

"Oh, stop it," Kirsten scolded gently. "So, Grace, do you still have the keys to the Mercedes?"

"Yeah," said Grace neutrally. It just...hurt...to see this man, her father, with the woman he said he loved more than Mom. What did that make her, the daughter of a relationship that never should have been?

"All right. Um...I wrote out directions to the Newport Group," she said, taking a sheet of off-white paper from her purse and handing it to Grace. Even the woman's notepaper was expensive, high-quality cotton-fiber paper with the initials "KAC" embossed on it. "So I'll see around twelve?"

"Yeah," agreed Grace. Kirsten studied her stepdaughter's appearance.

"That's a beautiful dress on you," she said thoughtfully.

"Summer bought it," explained Grace, embarrassed.

"Well, it suits you," declared Kirsten. "We'll have to go to the store where you bought it to look for more school clothes for you." After gazing at Grace a bit longer, though, she pronounced, "Though I suppose anything would look good on you. You're very pretty."

"Thanks..."

"Okay, so I'll see you later today. Uh—my cell phone and office number are on that page; call me on your cell if you get lost."

"I don't have a cell phone," Grace hesitated.

"Oh—that's right," said Kirsten, fishing in her purse again. "Here." She extracted a silver flip phone from her bag and handed it to Grace. "I didn't know what color you'd like, so..."

"It's great, thanks..." said Grace again, awkwardly. Kirsten was either extremely stupid or had never been taught the value of a dollar. Grace was betting on the latter.

"No problem, sweetie. I've got to go—late, as usual—I'll see you. Bye, Grace. Bye, honey," she added, kissing Jimmy softly on the lips.

"See you tonight," he said, by way of good-bye. Kirsten disappeared in a cloud of blue.

"She's something, isn't she," said Jimmy fondly. Grace nodded.

"I'm sorry," she said abruptly. Jimmy looked at her, confused. "For lashing out on you before," she clarified. "I probably wouldn't have married Mom either."

"Hey...it's in the past," he said softly. "All that matters is that you're my daughter, and I have you now, and you're happy. Kirsten can take care of the details." He hugged her quickly before saying good-bye.

Grace was even more nervous driving the expensive sports car on a road with actual other cars, but she was determined to meet Kirsten. Finally, nerves on edge, she pulled into the parking lot of the gorgeous building that housed the Newport Group. Hesitantly, she parked the car, got out, and locked the doors. The building was so huge; it couldn't have been more intimidating if she had been Belle at the Beast's castle for the first time.

"Hi," she said shyly to the receptionist, a dark-haired woman of about thirty, with long, French-manicured nails. "I'm here to see Kirsten Cooper?"

"Grace," said Kirsten warmly, stepping into the reception area and lightly hugging her stepdaughter. "Thanks, Diana; I'll see you after lunch. Want anything?"

"No, thanks, Mrs. Cooper," said the receptionist—Diana, Grace supposed—with a smile.

"One day I will get you to accept food," teased Kirsten. "Just you wait."

"It's not professional, Mrs. Cooper," Diana laughed.

"By the way, this is Grace," said Kirsten, gesturing to her. "She's my stepdaughter."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Cooper."

"Nice to meet you," said Grace, a little bit quickly.

"Anyway, Grace, shall we?"

"Let's go," she agreed. "But...Kirsten?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you drive instead of me?"

"Sure. Why, is there something wrong with the car?"

"No...it just makes me nervous. I've never driven a car that cost that much money. I've never even driven a foreign car." Kirsten laughed lightly.

"I don't think I've ever driven an American car," she declared. "No...wait...that's a lie. Back when I was at Berkeley, I drove my date's Chevy exactly once." She shuddered. "It was awful; the brakes were all screechy and the transmission kept stalling. Never again."

Berkeley again. Grace couldn't picture Kirsten at Berkeley; she saw her more as an Ivy Leaguer; Yale or perhaps Princeton or Vanderbilt.

"You went to UC Berkeley?" Kirsten smiled.

"I did, graduated Class of '84 with a B.A. in the history of art," she said proudly. "My dad wouldn't speak to me for months after I decided to go to state university."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he even went to a private college, and mind you his parents had no money when he was ready for school. I don't know how they managed. Dad would have liked me to go to Stanford, I guess, if I insisted on staying in-state, but what he really wanted was Harvard. The best and most famous school, the first school of the New England elite for his little girl," she finished drolly. "My mother was a Lodge."

"Ohh," said Grace, as they reached Kirsten's blue Audi. "But you didn't want to go to Harvard?"

"Nope," said Kirsten cheerfully. "I wanted a change of scenery. Yes, I do know that Harvard's on the East Coast," she said at Grace's confused look. "But...I mean, Cambridge is a rich people town. Ivy League schools mostly are, you know: rich people go there to meet other rich people and make lovely, rich connections. I wanted something new, so for once in my life I broke the mould and picked Berkeley. I've never regretted it." She climbed into the driver's seat, and Grace opened the other door and got in.

"Your father, on the other hand, never got any grief from his family about going state," Kirsten continued as she started the car. "They were just as blue-blooded as my parents, but they'd lived in California a long time. It kind of mellowed them out. Plus, their money had never been threatened." As Kirsten finished pulling out and took her car out of reverse, she glanced at Grace meaningfully. "Money is only not important if you've always had it," she warned. "I'm not trying to be mean or anything," she hastened, "but the people around here who haven't always had money put a higher premium on going to a good school, getting a good job, making the right friends, the right marriage. I'm not saying they're bad people, but be careful." Grace acknowledged her with a nod and quickly tried to take the subject away from money.

"Did my dad go to Berkeley, too?" she asked curiously. Kirsten shook her head, her hair a golden cloud around her face.

"UC Riverside," she explained. "Economics major, graduated the same year I did. That's where he met your mom senior year; I think she worked at a coffee shop or maybe a bar."

"Oh." Grace didn't really know what to say. She didn't want to think about Mom and Dad like that, back then. She didn't want to rehash the anger of morning, no...

"So you liked going to state university?" Kirsten nodded.

"I loved it. I met all sorts of people I never would have met if I'd gone to Harvard. Sandy Cohen, for one."

"You knew Mr. Cohen in college?"

"Yeah, he was a friend of my roommate's boyfriend junior year. He used to hang out with us a lot—that was when Jimmy and I were broken up," she clarified, "so we'd do double-date sorts of things to keep Lesley and—God, I don't even remember his name...Ray, maybe? Anyway, we sort of kept them company. We never really dated, though...he took me to a movie once, but that was it."

"What was he studying?" asked Grace curiously. Kirsten shrugged her shoulders as she pulled into a parking space.

"By that point he was on his J.D.," she said vaguely. At Grace's confused look, she apologized. "_Juris doctor_," Kirsten explained. "It's a law degree. I should've just said that; I tend to make things more complicated than they need to be. One of my many faults," she said with a smile. Grace mentally ticked off a fifth finger. "I think he told me what his undergrad was, but I don't remember. Theatre, maybe, or music? He was always singing corny old show tunes." Grace smiled.

"I can't imagine that; he looked so professional," she said shyly. Kirsten laughed as she led her into the restaurant.

"He doesn't look as professional in leather pants with a microphone in his hand, I can tell you that," she said. "My freshman year, he did _Grease_ with the drama club. That was before I knew him, of course, but I went, and the image sort of stuck with me. I can't believe I didn't know him on sight when he brought you," Kirsten added, shaking her head. "I guess it's because I never expect to see people from Berkeley in Newport. They're two separate lives, really; I think I'm the only Newport girl to have gone there." A hostess quickly led them to a table, and they settled down with the menu.

"Why did you and Dad break up?" asked Grace after a few moments of silence.

"Hmm..." said Kirsten pensively. "Well, the first time was right after sophomore year," she started. "We'd been going together for more than four years, since before my sixteenth birthday, and I guess we were starting to think, enough is enough, or at least I was," she corrected. "Your father was pretty miserable for most of junior year, and I didn't date anyone seriously, so we got back together that summer, when we were twenty-one." She began to fiddle with a roll from the breadbasket. "And then we broke up again two and a half years later, at Christmas. We moved in together after college, and I guess we weren't really ready for it," she sighed. "Your dad went back to Riverside to stay with one of his friends from school who was staying on for graduate work, and he met your mom again, and...well..." Kirsten shifted uncomfortably, and both she and Grace were relieved at the arrival of the waiter.

"Gin and tonic," said Kirsten quickly. "Wait...better not...I'll have a screwdriver instead. Grace?"

"Water's fine." The waiter left with a smile, and Grace looked at Kirsten carefully. She'd heard vodka called a "lunch drink," because it didn't have much of a scent, but she'd never known anyone who drank hard liquor at lunch. Mostly the kids at home would try to sneak in a beer or something, but never spirits.

"I have a taste for alcohol, especially when I'm nervous," said Kirsten, a little bit stiffly but not unkindly as she correctly read Grace's look. "There's another fault. Don't worry, though; we have time. I'll be okay to drive."

"I can always do it," Grace offered awkwardly. "And...I mean, I don't mean to judge or anything. It's just that...at home, everyone who drinks hard liquor turns out messed up, so I've always stayed away from it." Kirsten nodded.

"A good habit to get into," she agreed. "I, on the other hand, grew up in Newport Beach, where all the fashionable teenage girls practically live on Absolut. It's like water around here."

"What's Absolut?" asked Grace.

"Swedish vodka," explained Kirsten. "Like I said, all the girls around here drink too much. Victoria certainly likes her Jack Daniels," she added.

"And you're okay with that?" Grace's tone was incredulous.

"No, I'm not," said Kirsten seriously, "but I'd rather she drank from the liquor cabinet, where I can monitor her, than from some stash in her closet, the way that I did when I was a girl."

"But she's thirteen! How is she going to get alcohol on her own?"

"You'd be surprised. In this community...people drink. You build up your tolerance to alcohol from when you're a kid. That's another thing you should be careful about, Grace, when you start going to the parties around here. The punch is always spiked, and I mean seriously spiked. If you don't drink, you don't have much tolerance, so I'd stick to water if I were you—and I mean, take a glass and fill it from the tap," she warned. The waiter returned with their drinks. Kirsten took a deep gulp of her screwdriver, then looked at her stepdaughter thoughtfully.

"You want to try?" Grace shrugged and took the glass Kirsten offered. She took a quick sip, letting the innocent juice that reminded her of breakfast wash over her tongue, the foreign substance weighing heavily in her mouth. She swallowed hastily, and her throat burned.

"I think I'll stick to water," she said, and Kirsten nodded.

"Definitely better for you," she agreed. She took another sip of her drink. "This is actually pretty tame, though, by Newport standards."

"I don't want to know what you drink when you want to get drunk," said Grace in response, shaking her head. The cool water calmed her throat, but now, in retrospect, she thought that maybe she wouldn't mind the stuff her stepmother drank if she were to get used to it.


	7. Chapter 7

**_I love1984.Wish that were my summer reading! We read it during freshman year, though (Actually, in the George Orwell category I prefer Animal Farm and in the "negative Utopia" I prefer Huxley's Brave New World...but I still love it) I have to read Native Son, Moby Dick, and Huck Finn. I hate junior year already! Luckily I'm a fairly fast reader. And yeah, the dialogue is a little bit difficult for me; I feel as though I have to establish their new personalities and it comes out sort of awkward. Anyway, here goes again...a little more angst in the Cooper household, sorry, but I hope it works. Thanks again for all the reviews._**

The waiter returned again, this time with food. Grace dug into the pasta she'd ordered, finding it quite tasty. Kirsten, on the other hand, seemed to pick at the Caesar salad she'd gotten.

"Do you want some of mine?" suggested Grace. "If you don't like the salad, I mean..."

"Oh...no," said Kirsten off-handedly. "I'm not really hungry; I'm just eating so that the vodka doesn't get to me. How's your food?"

"It's really good. Are you sure you don't want to try some?" Kirsten considered.

"All right, why not," she said. Grace offered her fork.

"That _is_ good," Kirsten agreed. She appraised her stepdaughter contemplatively. "Excuse me if I'm intruding, Grace, but do you do anything in particular to keep so thin? Only because I haven't known many girls your age who dig in so heartily at something like pasta," she finished quickly, embarrassed.

"No, not really," said Grace, looking down at her plate. "I've always been pretty skinny." Kirsten reached out and touched her arm.

"That's a good thing, sweetie," she said. "Don't say it like it's a death sentence, 'pretty skinny.'"

"I always wanted my mom's body," Grace admitted. "She's not fat or anything, just...more proportioned. It took me forever to get boobs." Kirsten smiled.

"Me, too, or at least it felt like forever. You're stunning, though, just the way you are—like a deer, maybe; very graceful." She smiled again. "Your name fits you. But, yeah, your body looks like it came straight from your Cooper side. Jimmy's mom and his sister are very tall and thin, too, with that delicate bone structure and willowy shape. It's elegant."

"You, too," said Grace softly. Kirsten shrugged.

"Not really. I have small bones, I guess, and I've always been pretty thin, but I'm not built the way the Cooper girls are."

"You're just right," declared Grace. "Lucky you."

"Don't waste your time hating your body, Grace," said Kirsten seriously. "It's the only one you've got."

"I know."

"There are girls who starve themselves, make themselves sick to look like you, sweetheart."

"Yeah...but I guess whatever body you have, there's someone else who wants it but can't have it, right?" Kirsten smiled rather sadly.

"Yeah." She took a long sip of her drink, asked the waiter for a second, and spooned a few dressing-soaked cucumbers into her mouth before gliding into the next subject.

"So, your father and I were talking, and we think that it would be best for you to attend Harbor High. That's where Jim goes, and Summer Roberts, too, and you and she seemed to hit it off, so...I mean, if you want to stay with us."

"What other choice do I have," said Grace dully. "I mean," she quickly corrected, "I do want to stay with you; it's just...I don't have any other options, you know?"

"You feel trapped," said Kirsten softly. "And it sucks. I know what you mean. Don't worry about it. You didn't hurt my feelings." She rubbed Grace's hand. "Now, you'll have to take a placement test, and we'll have to get your records—I've talked to Mr. Cohen; he's going to help."

"All right," said Grace automatically. "So...Harbor...I guess it's a private school?"

"Yes, and it's excellent," agreed Kirsten. "Don't worry; there's no uniform, and they're fairly lax...but it's beautiful, good teachers, lots of nice kids. You'll love it. Your father and I did."

"Sure."

"Anyway," said Kirsten, changing topics again. "My father's birthday is coming up in two weeks, and we—Jimmy and I—are throwing him a party. Is there, um, anyone you'd like to invite?"

"Yeah, that would be really nice of you," said Grace, her eyes alight. "I...I guess I was wondering what's going to happen to Ryan and me, you know, now that I..." She let the words hang in midair, not quite knowing how to end her sentence. "Ryan Atwood, my boyfriend. But isn't it a bit late to be mailing invitations?"

"No; they're really more of a formality, anyway," Kirsten smiled. "Just give me your boyfriend's address, and I'll send an invitation." She glanced at her watch. "Ouch. We're running out of time here, I think. I'd better ask for the check." She threw the rest of her screwdriver back and followed it, as an afterthought, with a crouton. The waiter returned with their bill, and Kirsten handed him her credit card.

"Kirsten?" asked Grace timidly. "Do you...I mean, are you going to be okay to drive?" Kirsten chuckled.

"Sandy asked me the same thing," she laughed. "I told you that I've been building my tolerance to alcohol since I was a kid. But, hey. If it makes you feel better, you can drive." She fished in her purse and took out her keys. "Here you go."

The waiter came back with the receipt, which Kirsten signed without even glancing at the price.

"Thanks," she said, and they left.

Ryan Atwood lay on his bed a few days later, examining the cream-colored envelope addressed to him in dark blue ink. The return address on the flap said "Cooper," but the only Cooper he knew was Grace, who had left and not called him in a week. Carefully, he slit open the envelope.

_Mr. and Mrs. James Cooper request the pleasure of your company at a celebration of the birthday of Mr. Caleb Nichol..._

It read like a wedding invitation. No birthday party Ryan had ever attended had been anywhere near as formal. He had no idea who "Mr. Caleb Nichol" was, anyway. Was this a joke? Absently, he turned over the invitation and saw more of the flowing handwriting that had addressed the envelope.

_Ryan,_ it read. _I'm Grace's stepmother, Kirsten. We're having a birthday party for my father, and Grace invited you. Please come; I think that it would mean a lot to her. Don't worry about buying him something or anything like that—just come. The dress isn't too formal; khakis and a sports jacket are fine. If you have any questions, I've included our house phone number, just in case Grace hasn't given it to you yet. Hope to see you soon. Fondly, Kirsten Cooper_

Was this where Grace was? Ryan shook his head. Why hadn't she called?

"Ryan," said Theresa, walking into the room he shared with her brother, Arturo. "What was that card, anyway?"

"An invitation to a birthday party," he said wryly. "Grace Cooper's step-grandfather." Theresa frowned.

"Grace Cooper's step-grandfather?" she queried, sitting next to him on the bed.

"Yup," Ryan confirmed. "Caleb Nichol."

"From the society pages?" Theresa gasped. "He's that real estate mogul who's always dating someone young and beautiful..._that's_ Grace's step-grandfather?"

"Apparently. And I've just been invited to help him celebrate his birthday."

"You're going to go."

"Well, yeah. At least...I mean, I'll get to see Grace, right?"

"She still hasn't called?" asked Theresa softly, her voice sympathetic.

"Nope. I guess she's enjoying rich people." He squinted at the invitation again.

"Society pages, huh? Do they say anything about...James and Kirsten Cooper?" Theresa raised her eyebrows.

"Maybe..." she said, thinking. "Hang on." She ran from the room and returned with a several-months-old copy of _Riviera_ magazine. Theresa lay on the bed with him and flipped through the pages, stopping when she came to a half-page photograph with a short blurb under it. Ryan leaned over her shoulder to glance at the picture. There was a distinguished-looking older man with icy blue eyes and a slightly intimidating smile. On his right arm was a young, lusciously beautiful woman with shoulder-length dark hair and a perfect _Playboy_ figure that had been poured into a low-necked white gown. Ryan swallowed. To Caleb Nichol's left was an older, but still quite young-looking woman with long, wavy blonde hair and a face that resembled his. She must be Mrs. Cooper, Ryan reasoned. She was certainly beautiful and sexy and not shy about showing it, said her tight black dress. Oh, God, _she's_ Grace's _stepmother_, Ryan chastened himself, though at least she wasn't the grandmother. The woman was arm-in-arm with a tall, good-looking man with a friendly smile. He looked like Grace, though he didn't have her easy elegance or the deep blue eyes that Ryan loved so much. Three teenagers were assembled in the front of the picture. Ryan glanced at the blurb.

_Caleb Nichol and daughter Kirsten Cooper celebrate the latest success of their Newport Group—a commission to build a series of malls across the state—in their usual glamorous way. Top row from left: Nichol's date Stephanie Harris, Caleb Nichol, Kirsten Cooper, and her husband James F. Cooper. Bottom row from left: James N. Cooper, 15, and twins Victoria and Caleb Cooper, 12. The Coopers' net worth is estimated at about $27 million, though that's nothing compared to the reported value of Caleb Nichol, which is almost $50 million._

Shit. That was some rich father Grace had. Ryan studied the picture again, looking at the kids this time. The older boy had his mother's good looks combined with his father's charm; the younger one, though handsome, was stuck in that slightly awkward stage of shooting up in height and not quite catching up in width. The daughter could have been a replica of her mother except for a few obvious mistakes, her green eyes and wider shoulders among them.

"Wow," breathed Theresa. "You have to go."

"You think?" asked Ryan hoarsely. She nodded.

"Definitely. Oh, my God..._look_ at them! You have to go, if for no other reason than to come back and tell me that there really are people as beautiful as they are in real life." Both their gazes returned to the photograph.

"They can't be real," said Ryan. "Nobody real is that good-looking, _and_ that rich. They've got to be fake. There's no way."

"Go anyway," Theresa pleaded. "It'll make Grace happy, right?"

"I...guess..." stammered Ryan. "It's just...wow."

"Definitely," she agreed. They lay on the bed in silence still looking at the picture of the Cooper family.

Eleven or so that same night, Kirsten Cooper sat alone at the dining room table, a glass of merlot in her hand, as her eyes scanned over a copy of _Time_. She barely took in the words she read as she held back tears.

"Hey," said Jimmy quietly, pouring himself some wine and coming to sit next to her. "What's wrong, beautiful?"

"Nothing," she said automatically, turning the page of the magazine. He sighed and put his hand gently over her eyes, feeling a slight wetness as her lashes fluttered shut.

"What's the article about?" Kirsten sighed.

"It's Dad," she said simply, admitting defeat. "He just called."

"How is he?" asked Jimmy carefully.

"All right, I guess...he and Stephanie broke up."

"Let me guess—she 'wants too much, too soon'?" Kirsten laughed wryly.

"However did you guess?" She put down her glass and pushed it away. "He just...floats from girl to girl, and I can't even keep them straight. Stephanie was history two weeks ago, apparently, and he has a new girlfriend."

"Oh? What's her name?" Kirsten gave her husband a withering stare.

"Gabrielle," she said, drawing out the "elle" with a derisive tone. "They're coming tomorrow night, so they'll be here a few days before the party."

"I'll bet you ten thousand dollars here and now that she's closer to Jim's age than mine," said Jimmy. She lightly slapped his hand.

"I'd have to be stupid to take that bet," was her quiet response. "I just...Jimmy, I love my dad so much, but he just...can't get past Mom. These girls...remember Emily? I actually _babysat_ for her when she was a girl."

"I remember," Jimmy said, not letting her see him smile. "She was, what, Hailey's age, right?" Kirsten flinched at the mention of her younger sister.

"Something like that," she mumbled.

"I'm sorry, Kiks...I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay. It's not your fault my own baby sister doesn't want to talk to me anymore. She liked you better than she did me, anyway; if anything, she kept in touch with us as long as she did to talk to you."

"She's young, beautiful. She'll come around."

"She's almost thirty years old, Jimmy. She's outgrown the 'young' excuse." Jimmy shrugged.

"She's a baby-of-the-family. They milk the 'young' excuse at least until forty."

"You're a baby-of-the-family," said Kirsten, her mouth hinting at a real smile.

"I know, and I'm still trying to use the 'young' excuse," he teased, and he kissed her affectionately. "Don't worry too much, okay? Everything's going to be fine." She looked up at him, her eyes still straddling the line of "crying" v. "not crying."

"I hope so, Jimmy, I really do." He put his arms around her and pulled her tight.

"I love you, Kirsten."

"I love you, too, sweetie," she said thickly, and he felt a drop on his shoulder and sighed inwardly. Family matters always hurt his wife so much that he wanted to clobber Caleb half the time for not realizing it.

"Oh—sorry," said Grace, uncomfortably, as she walked into the room. _Ignore, deny, avoid_...

"It's okay, kiddo," said Jimmy, stroking Kirsten's back as she began to restrain her light sobs.

"Yes," agreed Kirsten, steadying her voice. "Don't worry. But, Grace, it's kind of late," she added, switching into "mother mode." "I'm taking you shopping tomorrow, don't forget."

"I didn't," said Grace quickly. "I just wanted something to drink before bed." She walked to the cabinet and got a cup before heading to the fridge for milk. As she headed to the stairs, she suddenly turned.

"Kirsten? Are you sure you're okay?" Kirsten smiled, extracted herself from Jimmy's arms, and tossed the contents of her wine glass down the sink.

"I'm fine, sweetie. Really—don't worry. Get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"All right," said Grace uncertainly. "'Night, Kirsten. 'Night, Dad."

"Good-night, Grace."

After her stepdaughter had left, Kirsten turned to Jimmy again.

"How are we going to explain her?" she asked, suddenly nervous again. "Did Dad even know about Julie?" Jimmy shook his head.

"Not unless you told him."

"Oh, God. He's going to be impossible..."

"Hey, we were—we were broken up," pointed out Jimmy. Kirsten waved the fact aside.

"I know, and _I_ can accept that. But you know what dads are like when it comes to their daughters, especially _my_ dad...I mean, just try to imagine for a second what you'd do if you found out that Vicky was dating someone with a kid."

"I'd clobber him," he said instantly. "Wait—oh, _crap_. He's going to clobber me."

"And the fact that she's almost seventeen years old and you've never met her is only going to heighten the anger," groaned Kirsten.

"We could lie," suggested Jimmy. "You know, not about who she is, but about having had contact with her...pretend we've known her all her life, and now that she's older, her mom and I gave her the choice, and she picked me..."

"She's already met people in this town," said Kirsten uncertainly. "Not just our kids, who might have told their friends, but Summer Roberts, too." She shook her head. "That poor girl. There are times I could just _kill_ her father for what he's done to her. As if the divorce weren't bad enough, Lila _died_, and he still won't speak about her. And then there's his new wife, and—"

"Shh, honey, I know how you feel about Melanie Roberts. She's an interesting character, I'll give you that, but—"

"She's _not_ interesting; that's the point. She's just this vapid, giggly girl with a pretty face and perky breasts, which she only has because she bought them from him." Jimmy laughed at Kirsten's vehemence.

"You're so cute when you're mad, you know," he told her, reaching out to stroke her face. "But try to cut Melanie some slack, okay? Not everyone's wife is born smart and beautiful the way mine was." He kissed her gently on the forehead.

"You're so good to me, Jimmy," she said, slipping her arms around his waist. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"Hey, don't let's get started on that," he warned. "It's all beside the point...I've got you now, and you've got me, and that's really all that matters." They kissed for a long moment.

"Let's go to bed now," she mumbled into his mouth.

"Tired, beautiful?" he asked teasingly. She bit her lip and laughed.

"Actually, I am, a little bit. That's not exactly what I meant, though..."

"Oh, really, Mrs. Cooper? Care to tell me what you did mean?" She grinned suggestively.

"That depends...promise to do it, whatever it is?" He matched her lascivious grin.

"Of course."

An hour or so later, Kirsten lay drowsily in bed. She glanced at Jimmy. He was already asleep. Kirsten had never understood her husband's ability to fall asleep so quickly. She sighed and glanced at the clock on her nightstand. _12:26_, it read. This was why she never liked mornings; she couldn't get to sleep.

The soft sound of Jimmy's breathing in the dark, though comforting, taunted her insomnia. After the whirlwind that was her and her husband had faded, all her worries from before returned, even more torturous and nerve-wracking. Dad. Stephanie, Gabrielle. Jimmy, Julie, Grace…Sandy Cohen.

Wait. Kirsten's breath caught in her throat. When did he come into the picture? She recalled the conversation she'd had with Grace a few days ago, and her mind flashed to the brief meeting she and Sandy had had the day before that. Kirsten hadn't even given him a thought in at least eighteen years, but suddenly she found she couldn't drag her mind away.

_I might have fallen hopelessly in love with you, and we would've gotten married and driven off into the sunset together_. Well, what if she had? She tried to imagine what kind of husband Sandy Cohen would have been: Probably kind and thoughtful…

Well, that was pointless. Jimmy was certainly as kind and thoughtful as she could ever want, and while they had their problems—most of them hidden from the world but dealt with within the privacy of their bedroom—every relationship had problems. If she'd ended up with Sandy Cohen, there would have been problems too. Maybe different problems, but problems nonetheless. It was just Kirsten's annoying tendency to second-guess herself and the choices which she had made. She willed herself to stop, pushing to the forefront of her mind all of the wonderful things which marrying Jimmy had brought.

He was so handsome, too, with that thick dark hair and the blue eyes, and talented, too, she remembered…

This had to stop. With a glance at her sleeping husband, she slipped out from between the sheets and crept downstairs. Red wine. White wine. Scotch, bourbon, vodka…tequila, brandy, sherry, rum…and God knows what else. Pick your poison, Kirsten, she sneered at herself. What's going to knock you out most completely? What's going to let you escape from your wonderful—horrible—no, truly _beautiful_ life into the capricious world of dreams? She sighed and poured a glass of water. Then she trudged up the stairs, back to her room, and slipped into the bathroom. There were sleeping pills in the cabinet. She hated using them, really, she did, but the thought of sleep was so seductive that she just couldn't resist.

Kirsten climbed back into bed, brushed her lips against Jimmy's jawbone, his slight stubble scratching her mouth, and fell against the pillows. Good-night.

**_Please, Sunny, don't call me a traitor just yet...wait to see what happens next, haha._**


	8. Chapter 8

**_Dedicated to my mother, though she has no idea that I write this stuff. Hope it's not too sentimental. I'm still working on my other story, believe it or not, though as school approaches time is becoming more scarce...Don't worry; they'll get to where they're going. Enjoy._**

"Kirsten. Kirsten, wake up. You have to get up now, and I mean _now_." Kirsten opened her eyes and stretched.

"What? What's going on?"

"The Lear jet came in early. Your father is standing in the kitchen, demanding to see his daughter." Kirsten sat up straight in bed and looked at her husband with alarm.

"He's _here_? Already?

"Well, it's ten o'clock," Jimmy added matter-of-factly. "I let you sleep in. By the way, honey, are you okay? I mean, you may not like the mornings, but it's not like you to sleep so late."

"I took a sleeping pill last night," she said, tucking her hair behind her ears. "I guess it knocked me out."

"Oh." Jimmy sat on the bed and looked at her carefully. "Are you sure you're okay? Because…"

"Yeah, yeah," Kirsten assured him, rising from the bed and walking over to the bathroom. She rinsed her face with cold water and came back.

"So did you see the girlfriend?" she asked as she walked over to her dresser and picked out clothes.

"Yeah. I didn't meet her, though; I just saw her through the window."

"And?" Kirsten pulled the nightgown over her head and began getting dressed.

"Tall, built, blonde, blue eyes, blue bikini," Jimmy told her, his voice clearly expressing that she bored rather than excited him. "Twenty-four years old."

"At least she's legal," Kirsten noted dryly. "And, hey, twenty-four. I was twenty-three when we got married." She gazed in the mirror, debating whether her shirt was buttoned-up enough or needed one more.

"You look great. Let's go."

"I thought you liked my dad."

"I do, I like your dad very much, but the man scares me."

"Jimmy, honestly, you should be used to him by now; we've been married almost seventeen years, and we've been together for—what is it, twenty-four? Oh, my God. We were _dating_ when Dad's new girlfriend was born." Horror contorted Kirsten's face. "I could be her _mother_."

"Kirsten, calm down," said Jimmy soothingly, walking over to his wife and rubbing her arms gently. "We've been through this already. Your dad likes girls too young for him; you've got to get past it."

"I know," she said, looking at her hands. "I know I do."

"So let's go," he responded gently. "Come downstairs and see your dad. Maybe Gabrielle will even be dried off enough that you can meet her, too."

"Okay…" Kirsten's voice trailed off, and she looked up at her husband and smiled. "I can do that." She left the room and began walking down the stairs. Jimmy noticed as he followed her the way that she'd squared her shoulders and done—something—to the rest of her slight frame that she looked sweet but imposing. He always wondered how she did it.

"Kiki, here you are," said Caleb Nichol, outfitted in a striped polo shirt and jeans. The casualness of his clothing, though, didn't lend itself to his face, which was still clearly formidable.

"Hi, Dad," she said, with all the peppiness that she could muster. She quickly went over to her father to give him a hug and kiss.

"Sleeping late?" Of course, he'd latch on to that.

"Yeah, a bit," Kirsten said carefully, nervously fidgeting with her hair. "I wasn't working today, anyway…"

"Sure, sure," said Caleb easily. She waited for the barbed edge that would make her inwardly wince, but it didn't come.

"So where are my grandchildren? I want to see them."

"They're like me," laughed Kirsten. "They like to sleep in." The words had barely left her mouth before Grace walked into the room. She froze like the quintessential deer-in-headlights at the sight of this strange man.

"Grace," said Kirsten quickly, before her father could say anything. "I don't think you've met my father, Caleb Nichol. Dad, this is Jimmy's oldest child, Grace."

"Pleased to meet you," stammered Grace, shaking hands with Mr. Blue-steel Eyes.

"Mmm. Jimmy's child, you said?" Kirsten flushed.

"Her mom is Jimmy's ex-girlfriend, from before we were married. I can't believe I've never mentioned her to you," she continued, her eyes begging Grace to go along with what she was saying. "Anyway, now that she's older, she's been fighting with her mother a lot, so Jimmy and I said that she could live with us. She and I get along pretty well."

"I see."

Grace turned, uncomfortably, to her father, who gave her a squeeze and a kiss on the forehead, saying, "Good morning, Gracie-Lou-Who," as if he did so every morning. _Gracie-Lou-Who?_ Eh, she'd been called worse. He wasn't a dad if he didn't have an embarrassing nickname for her.

"Morning, Dad."

"So, Dad, when can I meet your new girlfriend?" asked Kirsten brightly.

"Oh, I don't know, whenever she's finished swimming," he said airily. Seconds later, a young woman strolled into the room.

Kirsten's first thought was that Barbie had come to life. The woman was tall and perfectly proportioned, with long, shiny blonde hair, a wide, sensual mouth, and the sort of huge blue eyes that Kirsten had only ever known to exist on the doll. The straps of the blue bikini which Jimmy had referenced peeked out from under a white tank top paired with jeans.

"You must be Kirsten," Gabrielle said with a honeyed alto. "It's so good to meet you. I'm Gabrielle." She held out her hand.

"Glad to meet you," said Kirsten, trying to keep her shock in check. All of Dad's girlfriends were beautiful, but Gabrielle…was unbelievable, in the most primitive sense of the word. "I…uh, this is my husband, Jimmy," she said, gesturing to him. He and Gabrielle shook hands. "And this is my stepdaughter, Grace." They shook hands, too. "My three other kids will wake up eventually," Kirsten added with a grin, "and then you can meet them. In the meantime, I'll show you where you'll be staying." The two women headed for the stairs, leaving Grace alone with her father and this rather scary-looking step-grandfather.

"Dad, can I borrow the keys to one of your cars?" she asked, trying to sound natural. "Summer and I wanted to go out." This wasn't true, but it was better than saying, "I'm desperate to get away from your father-in-law, to whom your wife just told a big lie that makes me very uncomfortable."

"Sure, kiddo," Dad said casually. "Take whichever one you want…oh, wait, I don't know if Kirsten's going out later. Better leave her car." He offered her a credit card as well. "Don't let Summer talk you into buying anything you don't want," he teased.

"Thanks," she said, taking the card. She'd noticed that extra keys to all four cars hung in the garage, and the thought of Dad's Porsche was a little bit tempting, but she got behind the wheel of the Mercedes which she had been driving. It was a beyond-nice car, worlds away from Lance's car, which she remembered finding so freeing the first time she drove it by herself. Grace felt guilty about enjoying the luxury car so much; she didn't want to get attached to anything so expensive about living with Dad and Kirsten.

She stopped at a nearby beach, and took off her shoes to walk along the sand. It might be other-worldly beautiful and intimidating in Newport Beach, but sand was still sand. She thought about Ryan.

Grace missed her boyfriend so much…She wanted, more than anything, to have him near her. Kirsten had promised to invite him to the birthday party, which was thrilling, but there was a vague nervousness that was growing larger and larger at the pit of Grace's stomach. She was almost embarrassed by the money her father's family had, and she felt dangerously close to being a sell-out. She and Ryan had had a plan, if you could call it that, to save up enough money to leave home and move somewhere else, get an apartment and get married and escape their families. Grace had been feeling guilty about the plan since Ryan's brother had gone to jail and his mother had run off, and Dad and Kirsten only made her feel guiltier. She _liked_ living with her father's family, and she didn't know how she could face Ryan.

She hadn't called him, because she hadn't known what to say. But that came with a price; being without him hurt. She was dying to talk to him, to be with him, even just to hear his breath in her ears or his heart pounding against hers. Grace didn't like to think of herself as a coward, but she knew in her heart that what she was doing was cowardly.

Right. She wasn't going to let that continue. Without even thinking, she pulled out the brand-new cell phone which Kirsten had bought her and dialed the number she knew by heart.

"Hello?" It wasn't him.

"Hi, Theresa, is Ryan around? It's Grace," she blurted. "Grace Cooper?"

"Grace!" The other girl sounded terribly surprised.

"Yeah," said Grace, and she let out a breath. "Can I talk to him?"

"What, no how've you been, how's the family?" teased Theresa.

"Sorry I haven't called."

"Hey, I was kidding. It's cool. It's your boyfriend who's been missing you. Sure you can talk to him."

"Thanks," said Grace gratefully, and she waited while she heard the familiar sounds of Theresa's family on the other line.

"Grace," said Ryan's voice. Stoic, sensitive, relieved, sweet…there was so much to read in his voice once she'd learned how.

"Hi." And her own voice was so small, so insignificant in comparison.

"Sorry I didn't call, I…"

"It's okay."

"Are you coming to the party for Kirsten's dad?"

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, if you want me to."

"I want you to, a lot."

"Then I'll be there. How…how are they, your dad's family? Do they treat you okay?"

"Yeah, they're great. Dad's…he's really shaping up to be a wonderful dad. And Jim, he's the oldest son, he's in our grade. I like him, and his girlfriend's really nice…And Kirsten, oh, my God, Ryan, you should meet her. She's unreal."

"I saw a picture of her. Of all of them. Theresa gets _Riviera_ sometimes, when she has extra cash."

"They're all so good-looking. I've never seen such good-looking people, such a beautiful house, in real life. It's like…the land of the Beautiful Ones."

"You're beautiful. You should fit in." They laughed.

"It's strange not being around you. It's too weird to accept these people as my family. I mean—they're nice, all a girl could want, really—but it's weird."

"Yeah. Listen, Grace, I was in the middle of doing some stuff, so I'll see you on the tenth, okay?"

"Sure. Wait. This is my cell phone. Let me give you the number."

"You have a cell phone?"

"Kirsten bought it for me." She rattled off the number.

"Okay. Bye, Grace. I love you."

"I love you." The phone line went dead.

To other people, it might have been a worrying, unsatisfying phone call, but Grace felt better. Ryan never talked much, but she'd managed to convince him to tell her when something was wrong. It hadn't been easy, but it was her finest _coup_ once accomplished. He was okay. She put the phone back in her purse.

The ocean was beautiful, so vast and untamed that it thrilled to Grace's innermost sensitivity. She had become an amalgamation of the well-bred "lady" her mother had wanted her to be and the silent, un-ambitious "arm piece" that her friends were all becoming, and rarely said what she thought. Yet there was a shy, insecure girl hidden behind the cool façade of poise and beauty…a girl who reveled in all the natural wonders of the world, a girl who loved with abandon and hid the painful rawness when she was hurt, a girl who gazed out at the sea and longed to be at peace with the demons which had racked her world.

Ryan kept the demons away. She wasn't even sure that it was something he consciously did—probably not—but she was never afraid with him at her side. There was something about his inscrutable demeanor and the sweet timidity which lay underneath that had always mirrored Grace. After they got past the first awkward dates when they had nothing in common but lust, there had grown a quiet understanding between them. Grace seemed fragile and waifish, as though waiting for some handsome knight to save her, but underneath that was her spun-steel strength…and even farther underneath was her true uncertainty. But she would not be dismissed as "weak," and neither would he. The layers upon layers of cockiness and insecurity, audacity and bashfulness, strength and insignificance that defined both their characters had bound them to each other in undeniable ways as they, sometimes gently, sometimes harshly, stripped each other of each layer. Maybe Theresa had known him longer, but Grace knew him better.

She meandered along the boardwalk, stopping to buy a "Balboa Bar" and savor the sweet, rich flavor of the iced cream. Kirsten's lie now hung in her mind. Grace was grateful to her stepmother for the quick and relatively painless acceptance witch she had undergone, but the hasty words spoken to Kirsten's father had served to remind Grace how utterly wrong her situation is. She felt the anger rise, as it so often did when she thought about Mom and Dad, Kirsten and Lance, but she forced it down. No, she had to really think about this, and leave the "what-if?"s out of the game.

It _was_ a strange situation, and if she was being perfectly fair, Grace didn't blame Kirsten for lying to her father. She was clearly afraid of the imposing man that was Caleb Nichol, and, once again, Grace could hardly blame her. She wondered, as the split-second of Kirsten's panicked face flashed through her mind, if Kirsten had married Dad and chosen him for the father of her children because she knew that their kids would be safe from constant worries about having to please "Dad"—though if Vicky was any indication, pleasing "Mom" was certainly a worry. _They always say you end up like your parents…_

Oh, God. Grace thought of her own mother and shook her head. Please, God, let me be a better mother than that, pushing my daughter to be something she isn't, living a life of fantasy and never teaching her how, exactly, to stand on her own two feet; leaving such a difficult lesson to the poor girl herself.

But at that moment, Grace Andrea Cooper made up her mind. She was going to make Kirsten's comment to her father true; she would accept Dad as her father and Kirsten as her stepmother and live with them, and she would unpack her things. With the decision fresh, she calmly walked back to the car and drove home.

Kirsten was sitting by the pool with a martini when Grace left the garage after parking the car.

"Hi," she said sheepishly. She indicated a chair, and Grace sat.

"I'm sorry, Grace," Kirsten apologized. "In my defense, you don't know my father. If I had told him the truth, he would never have accepted you, and he would have made your life—and mine, and Jimmy's, and your siblings'—absolute hell. And I didn't really lie…you are Jimmy's first child, and you and your mother did fight, at least I assume so, and you and I have gotten along, at least up until now."

"Don't worry, Kirsten," Grace said dully, placing her hand on her stepmother's. "I don't hate you for it, and I don't blame you for it. We still get along." Kirsten smiled bittersweetly and squeezed the hand Grace had offered.

"I blame myself for it, though," she said distantly, "and you know, sometimes I hate myself for it—for the way I always try to please him. You know, Grace, all I ever wanted was for Dad to be proud of me. Now, I married the son-in-law he always wanted, have good-looking, intelligent kids, run the Newport Group just as he always wanted me to. I'm just terrified of jeopardizing that, Grace. I'm a bit of a coward when it comes to my father. I don't want him to stop being proud of me."

"I don't want that, either," Grace told her, blue eyes meeting blue eyes. "Everyone wants to please the parents…"

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry…" said Kirsten quickly, and Grace winced. There she went again, feeling terrible about things beyond her control, putting them on herself as if they were her fault. "You know that Jimmy's proud of you. He thinks you're beautiful and smart and sweet, and you are."

"He barely knows me," said Grace softly.

"He doesn't have to know you, sweetie. He loves you already. He's like that…open and loving…and you're his daughter. Victoria never really wanted to be a 'Daddy's girl'; she's in that rebelling stage. Jimmy loves that you actually want him around…and he loves you for you. And he's proud of you, if for nothing else, for making it through sixteen years of life. He's like that," she repeated. "Parents…are like that."

"Kirsten?"

"Hmm?"

"I miss my mom. Is that terrible of me?"

"No, honey. She's your mother. It's okay."

"But she was horrible to me. She abandoned me. I swore I'd always hate her. And before that, too…she always seemed to be holding out for a miracle…she refused to let me be who I was; she seemed desperate to make me the girl she'd wanted to be, not even caring what I wanted, what I needed."

"All mothers have faults. We aren't any of us perfect," said Kirsten slowly. "My mother drank too much. She never really stood up to Dad on the important issues; she…she was always making excuses…" Grace looked down uncomfortably as she saw tears brimming in Kirsten's eyes. "But I loved her so much, I love her so much. And I can tell you, sweetheart, your mother loves you." She gave Grace's hand a squeeze. "And it's more than okay to love her, too."

"I do love her," said Grace, surprised to find that her own voice was choking. "But…do you think…that one day…when I know you better…when I've lived here longer…it would be okay if I loved you, too?"

"I think it would be more than okay," Kirsten managed, and then she couldn't stop crying. Grace's eyes flooded, too, and she impulsively wrapped her arms around her stepmother, holding her tight.

"Would it be okay if maybe I loved you?" came the sobbing whisper.

"Yeah," Grace choked out. "That would be great."


	9. Chapter 9

**_OOPS! I always copy the chapters from thedocument that's the whole story...this time, I guess I copied it twice. Here itis, fixed._**

Grace nervously paced her bedroom. She was wearing a silk dressing robe that Kirsten had bought her—obviously Kirsten's signature look—over new underwear that Kirsten had bought her, contemplating which of the dresses that Kirsten had bought her she should wear. Tonight was the big night.

She hadn't minded Caleb Nichol after awhile; he had treated her with slightly aloof courtesy, which she appreciated. She didn't mind Gabrielle, either. The woman was beautiful, but she wasn't stupid, and she wasn't bad conversation. Still, tonight was nerve-wracking beyond belief. Suddenly, a knock came at the door.

"Miss Grace?" said Cara politely. "You've a telephone call." Grace thanked the maid and picked up the phone.

"Hi, Grace?" It was Summer.

"Hi, Summer. What's up?"

"Can I ask you a huge favor?"

"Sure..."

"I just got out of the shower, and _Melanie_ is totally trashed. I really can't deal with her when she's like this...Can I come over now and hang out with you before the party?"

"Uh, no problem. I'm not exactly dressed yet..."

"Me neither, maybe you could help me pick something to wear."

"Why not, come over."

"Thanks. Love ya! Bye." Grace cradled the phone with a smile. She remembered getting dressed with friends before dances or whatever, and tonight had seemed particularly lonely. Maybe Summer could be a real friend. She turned to the closet and surveyed her choices again.

Summer showed up pretty quickly, carrying a dress bag and a designer tote with supplies in it. She was just barely dressed, in a pair of sweats and camisole. Her hair was still wet, and she seemed near tears.

"Thanks," she said quietly. "I just can't handle her sometimes."

"I understand," Grace assured her, but Summer still looked forlorn.

"I tried to like her, Grace, really, I did. I mean, I'm not the only girl in Newport whose parents got divorced...but I just can't take it. She's not even a real person; she's a pretty plastic shell with nothing but booze and painkillers and coke inside." Summer's eyes were suspiciously wet. "I just don't get it. My dad's such a great guy. Why did he end up with this worthless—_bimbo_?" Grace tentatively reached out and gave the other girl a firm hug.

"I know. I knew dads like that at home, too. It's okay..." Summer wiped her arm across her face and gave a weak smile.

"I can't talk like that with anyone else," she admitted. "Nobody really knows me well enough. I mean, don't get me wrong, I have friends. But I don't have a _best_ friend. I have a hard time talking about her, you know? It's like there's this unwritten rule that you pretend everything's okay, right? Like, you can bitch about your stepmother, but actually caring isn't allowed." Grace looked down shyly.

"Yeah. I know what you mean. That's like how I get with my boyfriend. He's the only one I can tell that it really embarrasses me that Lance and my mom work in the skin business." She looked up at Summer and smiled forlornly. "Except you, now."

"Maybe we have more than Jim in common," said Summer thoughtfully.

"Yeah," said Grace, and they shared a smile that cemented their friendship. "Anyway...Can you help me? I have no idea what to wear."

"Sure. Let's see." Grace walked over to the closet and pulled out a dress. It was green and mid-calf length with a scoop neckline. Summer wrinkled her nose.

"Nope, definitely not the right dress for tonight. It's still too warm for anything long like that." She stood up and flipped through the dresses hanging neatly in rainbow order.

"You're obsessive, Grace Cooper," she teased, raising her eyebrows.

"Not normally," Grace admitted. "I just..."

"Yeah," Summer said, softening. "I know. How about this one?" She held up a halter-style dress that was blue with white polka dots and white piping. Grace held it to her body and studied her reflection.

"You have to put it on, you know." Grace blushed. "Don't be modest; it's only me." Grace took off her robe and quickly pulled the dress over her head. Summer studied her carefully.

"That's the one," she said. "Hey...no offense or anything...but you should straighten your hair a little. It's looking a bit crazy." She rummaged through her bag and came up with a ceramic flat-iron. "Here."

"Thanks," said Grace, eyeing the tool suspiciously. She'd never done anything more drastic to her hair than blow-drying it. As she headed for the bathroom, Summer stopped her.

"Wait. Which one should I wear?" Summer unzipped her bag and took out three dresses. One was pink with a plunging neckline; the next was strapless and yellow with a bow under her breasts; and the last was sleek purple satin and looked like lingerie.

"The yellow one," decided Grace. Without pausing, Summer stripped off her tank top and pulled the dress over her head.

"Zip it up for me?" After the dress was firmly zipped-up, Summer took off her pants and gazed at herself in the mirror.

"I think I'm going to straighten my hair the whole way," she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out some product that Grace didn't recognize along with a blow dryer.

"You have your own bathroom?"

"Yeah," Grace nodded. "I think Kirsten said all the bedrooms do." She opened the door next to the closet and walked into a rather small, rather bare bathroom. Summer found an outlet and plugged her hair dryer and flat-iron in.

"So, um, Grace?" asked Summer once she'd turned the loud dryer on. Her eyes were firmly focused on her reflection, and Grace noticed a slight blush on her face.

"Yeah?" Grace combed her hair carefully while the flat-iron heated up.

"What does sex feel like? I mean, the first time." Grace put down her comb suddenly.

"I don't know," she said. Summer's flushed cheeks were now flaming.

"I didn't mean to imply you're a slut or anything," she said quickly. "I just...well, you're older than I am, and you said you had a boyfriend, and..."

"And I live in Chino. It's okay. I'm probably the oldest virgin in that town," said Grace softly. "But...I don't want to end up like all the other girls, you know? I guess it's dumb, but I wanted to be special. I mean, Ryan and I...I wanted us to have a future. I'm not stupid; he's not stupid. I thought maybe we could get away, be something more. Dumb, really, but I know that babies get in the way."

"That's not dumb," said Summer. "I hope it's not weird, my talking about sleeping with your brother."

"He doesn't really feel like my brother yet," admitted Grace with a wry smile. "It's okay."

"Yeah...but, anyway, I guess we've been talking. He doesn't know I'm a virgin."

"He doesn't know that you've never had sex, and you're talking about having it with him?" asked Grace incredulously. "Summer..."

"I know it's wrong, but I have this reputation," she said. "I'm the brunette Holly. Remember, Holly Fischer, I told you about her?"

"Yeah, I remember. But still...Is he a virgin?" Summer nodded.

"We've been dating six months," she said in a small voice. "And he only dated two other girls between then and seventh grade...and I know neither of them slept with him. And I just don't believe he randomly hooked up with anyone, you know? He's not that kind of guy." Grace looked down. She hadn't known that there was a different "kind of guy." All the boys she knew, even the sweet ones, had hooked up early and easily.

"Here," said Summer, picking up the flat-iron. "Let me show you how to use it." She carefully straightened some of the hair around Grace's face.

"You're…like, really beautiful, you know?"

"Thanks," said Grace shyly. Summer handed her the iron.

"Listen…if the conversation got too personal…I'm sorry. I just…"

"It's fine. Really," she added forcefully. "I mean, it's weird, but it feels like I've known you a long time."

"Yeah," said Summer thoughtfully, nodding her head. "You get that sometimes, I guess. I mean, I've known some people my whole life, but I couldn't talk to them the way I can talk to you." She glanced at Grace's hair. "I think that's good. You want to keep some of the curls; it keeps it soft. Close your eyes," she instructed, and she lightly sprayed hair spray. Then, taking the flat-iron, she began to straighten her own hair.

"So, just so you know…" started Grace hesitantly. "Kirsten wants to pretend that I've known Dad my whole life, you know, just lived with my mom. It's probably what's best. I was thinking, maybe I've known you my whole life, too?"

"Sure," said Summer softly. "Maybe you have." They shared a grin as Summer finished her hair with fairly heavy hairspray.

"Isn't it going to be really greasy?" queried Grace. Summer shrugged.

"I'll wash it when I get home," she said. She ran a brush through her hair to keep it soft. "All right, make-up time." Matter-of-factly, Summer pulled out a make-up bag and began coating her face. Grace watched in astonishment.

"Hey, ease up on that, Sum," she said, the nickname flowing from her mouth as easily as if she had always known the other girl. "You're pretty enough that you don't need all that." Summer put down the foundation bottle embarrassedly.

"You're not the first person to say that," she admitted. "I just—I have to be perfect, you know? And, hey, my dad's a plastic surgeon. In my house, 'perfect' means artificial."

"Yeah. I guess every girl goes through a stage like that," said Grace with a laugh. "For me it was freshman year. I hated my freckles," she explained. "But it's actually so much easier and more comfortable to not wear so much." She brushed a little blush against the cheeks of her smooth, clear skin, followed by mascara and pink lipstick.

"See? Low-maintenance is so much more fun." Summer smiled.

"Sorry, I can't yet. Not for Caleb Nichol's birthday. I'm Newport, remember?" They laughed. "But maybe I'll give it a try." Grace waited as Summer meticulously lined, then shadowed, then mascara-ed her eyes. Their silence was broken by a knock at the door.

"Grace?" It was Kirsten. Grace left the bathroom and let her stepmother in.

"You look great," she remembered to say, even though she clearly had a lot on her mind.

"Thanks. So do you," Grace noted, eyeing Kirsten's red satin V-necked gown. Kirsten smiled in thanks.

"Um, honey, we're just about ready. I wanted to make sure you were dressed, and you are. Okay, um…" She ran her fingers through her blonde hair, the smooth veneer cracking and letting her slightly nervous behavior show through.

"Hi, Mrs. Cooper," said Summer, as she came out of the bathroom, her make-up finished.

"Oh, hi, Summer, I didn't know you were here already," said Kirsten with a warm smile.

"I came by to get dressed," she said lightly. "Melanie was acting up." Grace noticed that Summer referenced the stepmother she hated with casualness and almost amusement. It all came down to layers; Ryan's and now Summer's. That was how you measured closeness. Ryan.

"Oh, Kirsten," Grace said suddenly. "Is Ryan here yet?"

"No, sweetie; I would've told you. Don't worry. He'll be here." She turned her attention back to Summer.

"Honey, if she's bad already, you know you can always spend the night here," she said with concern. "The guest bedrooms are full, but you can stay in the pool house."

"You can stay with me," said Grace quickly. "I mean, if you want."

"Thanks," said Summer shyly. "You guys are great."

"Come on," said Kirsten, putting an arm around each girl. "I can't deal with my father and _Gabrielle_ on my own." Grace smiled inwardly at the emphasis Kirsten put on Gabrielle's name, just as Summer did on Melanie's. She recalled how Summer had said she was lucky to have Kirsten for a stepmother, and she really was.


End file.
